False Sequence
by Emma Swan and Regina Mills
Summary: In the midst of hunting down suspects on a case that has haunted her for years, FBI Agent Emma Swan discovers a hostage that proves to be a handful. With Emma's job on the line, & Regina's life at stake, they realize they have no choice but to work together. As weeks go by, they grow closer, but the answers to their questions seem entangled in the past. Will Regina face her demons?
1. Chapter 1

AN: There is an implied/referenced rape that will not be described in detail; it is barely alluded to in this chapter. Content warnings will be added in the header of chapters where appropriate. No major warnings apply for this chapter, except minor depictions of the aftermath of violence. This story will have some explicit consensual sex scenes, but those will also be noted.

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* * *

Emma stares out at the fog that hangs low over the harbor and swallows in nervous anticipation. The sliver of moon is the only light around, and its reflection on the water flickers out like a candle. As she braces herself and moves across the dark street, Emma makes a wish – for closure, oblivion, or whatever it will take to keep her from getting into these hopeless positions.

Tonight she's been careless and irrational, driven only by her insecurities and her ego. She's always had a lot of self-doubts, but over the past two years, it's all been made worse by a terrible mistake. That experience has left a deep and lasting mark, even though no one blames her for what happened. The higher-ups called the event "unavoidable," but it plays through her mind that this situation is similar to the last. She's looking for someone who doesn't want to be found, and she's not following her instincts. Instead, she's following the little voice in her mind that demands she prove herself. It's left her out here in the cold, and she's not only broken her cover, but she's also ditched her back up.

With a shuddery, deep breath, she wipes the sweat from her palms onto her jeans and secures her hand around the gun in her holster. She can sense movement somewhere in the darkness ahead of her and fright thumps through the pulse point in her neck.

There's a sole, squat building on the landscape that must have been a factory at one point, but weeds and time have ravaged it. She heads for the entrance without making a sound, then holds her breath as she pulls on a latch and the metal door rises. It's a risky move that makes a lot of noise, but with luck she'll startle anyone on the other side. She raises her gun to shoot, but the place is empty, and there's no sign of the men she'd been tracking.

Relief and disappointment hit her at once, but she remains on guard as she walks through the building. She uses a discarded crowbar to pry the lid from a crate, where weapons are nestled in neat rows. It's expected, but the weapons aren't what Emma's after.

There's no denying the place is dusty and she wonders how the men have pulled their quick disappearing act. Their cars are outside, even if everything is eerily quiet.

A soft, scuttling noise makes her glance up sharply, but it's only a rat running along the rafters.

She continues cautiously exploring, knowing that this could be a trap, but also with the peace of mind that she has nothing to lose if this turns sideways up - no family, no kids, no one who would miss her. Her parents left her to the care of the state, and long ago, she stopped being the type to really attach herself to anyone.

It's made her one hell of an operative.

She's about to step back outside, and then she hears it-a muffled moan from the corner, behind a stack of boxes. On impulse, and with the fast-thinking action drilled into her by her training, she rushes around the boxes and points her gun directly into someone's face.

It's a beautiful woman tied to a chair, looking up at her with hatred.

Emma has seen torture victims in the past, but this one renders her speechless and stuck in the spot where she's standing.

From the abrasions that spread across the woman's half bared body and fill up as much space as oceans on a map, she should be bent over in pain-but there's no evidence of tears and the woman sits proudly, even if she flinches when Emma comes closer.

"Hey," Emma says quietly. "It's okay. I won't hurt you." She unwraps the gag from the woman's face, and looks into the soulful brown eyes that stare back at her.

Emma knows better than to untie the woman right away. For her own safety, it's better to ask questions first and deal with the aftermath of that decision later. Even though it goes against what she's been taught, she's been in too many circumstances where hostages have endangered her life, or attempted to fight her out of fear. She's also too close to a victory to think about anything other than pursuing the men responsible.

"I'm going to help you," Emma promises. "My back-up will be here any moment, and then we're gonna round up the guys who did this to you. But first I have some questions I need you to answer. The men who were here-"

"They left," the woman informs her, sounding irritated. "And before you ask, I don't know where they went. They were talking about a speed boat."

"A speed boat?" Emma frowns. "How long ago was that?"

"I'm not sure," the woman softly groans.

"Fifteen minutes?" Emma asks impatiently. "Half an hour? What else did they say? Tell me!"

Emma turns around as loud footfalls alert her to the presence of her team, and Rob calls out to her, "Swan!"

Rob rushes around the boxes and appears equally stunned by the victim; it's only as he gapes at the woman that Emma feels the need to cover the stranger with her leather coat.

"You arsehole," Rob drawls, with his focus back on Emma. He completely forgets himself. "Don't ever run off on your own like that again! We were supposed to handle this together!"

Booth and Jones arrive in full suits of tactical armor, and Jones yells the code for a medic. Whale responds the quickest and begins tending the victim, while Rob pulls Emma aside and continues going off on her.

"And what the hell is this?" he snaps, reading right through Emma's intentions and gesturing wildly at the injured woman who refuses to acknowledge Whale.

The skilled physician undoes the woman's restraints and starts treating her injuries.

"Were you planning on continuing her interrogation?" Rob blusters. "Are you so obsessed with revenge that you've become desensitized?"

Emma feels the muscles in her jaw twitch defensively at the overdramatic remarks. "It's not about revenge!" she spits. "It's about doing my job, and getting answers. It would have been a danger just to let her go-"

"No," Rob argues. "It was a danger for you to go into this alone. If I had been with you-"

"We would have still lost the trail, and we'd be standing exactly where we are right now," Emma insists. "Look, I know you think I'm reckless at times, and you have a point. But we were really close tonight. Let's just help out with the clean up and we'll talk after."

She could get reported for disregarding protocol, but she and Rob have been through a lot together and he would never place a complaint about her – he'll just nag her directly.

"Fine, but I still think you're a fool." Rob grumbles, and then follows Booth to start the cataloging and removal of the weapons.

Emma lingers behind, planning to search the place from top to bottom.

Whale escorts the victim out, and the rest of their team loads the crates of weapons into armored vans.

Hours pass, and Emma squints in the dim sunlight that filters through the building's high windows. It must be around ten o'clock in the morning when the floor is mostly cleared, and their task force leader shows up.

Lance stops her with a look, and Emma closes the box of papers she'd been in the process of sorting through. "I'm assigning you a special duty, and if you try to fight me on this, Swan, I'll get the director to sign off on that desk job we've been taking about, just as soon as she gets back from her vacation to the Bahamas."

Emma glowers at him, but her silence is acquiescence, and she crosses her arms as she waits for him to give instructions that she already wants to ignore.

"That woman who you found here last night isn't just a random civilian. She's Regina Mills, and she's a pretty well connected, public figure. These people must have come after her for a reason. They probably left her here to die, but I am sure they'll come after her again if they discover that one of their thugs failed to finish the job. I convinced her to enter into temporary protective custody. She's scared-"

Emma tenses because she's experienced enough to guess what's coming next.

"You're going to babysit her and find out what happened here tonight," Lance states, confirming her worst suspicion. "I don't think it's safe to put her up here in Boston-and now that your cover is blown, it might not be safe for you, either. We'll relocate you—just for the time being, of course. There's a town in Maine-"

"Save it," Emma mutters. "I knew you were going to take me off active duty, even if you pretended you wouldn't. I mean, on the books I'm still active, but by banishing me to a small town in the middle of nowhere, you're effectively rendering me useless. You know how many domestic and international terrorists I've taken down that were connected to this organization? The list is pages long. I want-no, I deserve-the opportunity to see this thing through."

"And you will," Lance grates out, voice high and commanding. "This assignment is important."

Emma brushes him off, and returns to rummaging through boxes. "Fine," she shrugs. "I don't have a choice, so there's no point in having a conversation about it. I'll pack my bags after I'm done here."

Emma's already holding a grudge against Regina Mills for reasons beyond the woman's control, and though Lance claims that Regina will be compliant, she has no desire to live with a stranger in backwoods, Maine. Emma continues sorting through documents, and slips a few files into her shirt without a second thought.

When Emma leaves the factory later that day, she goes back to her apartment and drinks enough whiskey to dull her vision and her anger. She thinks, wryly, that the woman she's going to spend the upcoming weeks with is exactly the type of woman she'd spent her whole life avoiding, or trying to get into bed with. She smirks until her lips fall into a wistful frown.

Emma spends the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed. She's had a lot to drink, and expects to pass out—but she can't seem to fall asleep, after all.

* * *

The next morning, Emma reports to headquarters. It's a sleek set of office buildings that are inconspicuous and corporate-looking. She hates the place, and the state of her desk (which is only nominally hers, since she rarely ever uses it) reflects her distaste for the kind of work that keeps her coming back to the same place day after day. There's a stack of untouched forms on her keyboard, and she pats the top gently as she passes it onto Rob's desk.

Her hair is uncombed and pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she's thrown on a pair of comfortable jeans with a t-shirt under her blue leather jacket. She's prepared to drive for the next several hours, and she's pleased to find out that at least Lance has granted her unlimited access to equipment—not that she'll need it in the middle of Maine.

By mid afternoon, she and Regina are on the road headed north. Regina sits in the back seat, staring blankly out the window.

There's been an overnight change in the woman; she seems cold, but also quietly vulnerable, especially when she isn't aware Emma's watching her in the rearview mirror.

"Not very talkative, huh?" Emma asks. She'd be appreciative of the silence, if not for the fact that it's her job to get Regina talking.

Regina spares only a glance at her, and continues looking at the scenery. Farmland, open stretches of forest and the long, winding highway stand between them and their destination.

"It's going to be a long ride," Emma adds. "Want to listen to some music?"

"Why not," Regina replies, clutching at her side where the bruises run particularly deep. "Better than the sound of your voice. Or do you want to attempt to interrogate me again?"

"Come on, that's not what I was doing," Emma boldly claims. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, and what if you decided to lunge at me? Of course, it wouldn't have been really hard to take you down. But what if you had been the type to fight dirty?"

"You would have shot me, presumably, with that gun you pointed in my face," Regina hisses, not for a moment giving into Emma's attempt at lighthearted banter.

"Fair point," Emma concedes, sobering a little, and for the first time since their journey began, keeping her eyes strictly on the road in front of her. "I was just being careful, okay? I've seen a lot." She goes silent for a beat, but decides she can't leave the conversation there, or it'll cause Regina to make assumptions. "I'm sorry those men hurt you—"

"I don't want your apologies," Regina sneers, as if the pain truly doesn't affect her. "Don't ever talk of it again."

"Here's the thing," Emma begins, licking at her lips as if that'll coax the right words from her mouth. "It'd really help a lot of people if we talked about it. You don't have to give me all of the gritty details, but the guys who did this are part of a bigger organization. They hurt a lot of people, and they're going to continue doing this if we don't stop them."

Regina rolls her eyes and balls her fists until they go white at the knuckles. "I'm aware," she states. "But I can't help you. I've already described the men to your agents, and I provided you with a list of questions I was asked—none of which I was able to answer."

"It's possible that you were targeted because you come from a very wealthy, well-connected family," Emma suggests, not missing the chance to ask further questions. "What can you tell me about them?"

"There's nothing to tell," Regina argues hoarsely. "I have no family. I'm estranged from my mother and father. It's been two years since we've even spoken."

Emma could mention what she's seen in the background reports – that Regina's father, Henry Sr., belongs to a family of formerly cutthroat businessmen, or that her mother Cora Mills owns a billion dollar pharmaceutical giant, and has a reputation for funding dirty campaigns. Regina's family is part of an elitist group, with their hands in everything.

Instead, Emma pulls over at a gas station and goes inside to buy coffee. She needs to think this over. Either Regina's lying or telling the truth, and Emma finds herself wanting to believe the latter.

She's about to hand a steaming cup of coffee to Regina when the woman's new phone rings. Their own cell phones, laptops and other devices had to be left behind.

Regina plugs her ear to listen, so Emma's left clutching the coffee cup.

"You know that phone's only for emergencies," Emma points out, realizing she's already doing a sloppy job of monitoring Regina. "And I need a complete list of the people who have that number."

"Only one," Regina explains, ending her call. "Your boss - Mr. Lance DuBois. He's been in touch with my friend Marian and they're making arrangements for my son to join us. Henry was very upset when I didn't return home last night, or pick him up after school today. I didn't want him to see me like this, and well – Mr. DuBois offered an escort…"

"Wait, you have a kid?" Emma signed on to take care of Regina, but looking after a kid would count as actual babysitting. "How old?"

Regina's brow furrows, and she takes the cup of coffee that's meant for her. "He's ten," she says. "But some days, he's much wiser than his years."

"Good. As long as I don't have to change any diapers," Emma shrugs, although she casts her gaze away and squints hard. She's always been pretty uncomfortable around kids, but there have been times when she's secretly wondered what it would be like to hold a baby. Her chin wobbles subtly and she blinks furiously.

"You don't like children, Miss Swan?" Regina asks, and she's deliberately trying to catch Emma's eyes.

"They're okay," Emma mutters. "I've just never thought about it. Too busy with my work, I guess." It's a lie, and she turns her back to Regina, hoping that the woman isn't perceptive enough to see right through her. "Where's the kid's father?" she adds, determined to keep the focus off herself.

"He doesn't have one," Regina answers coolly, and then ends their chat by getting back into the car.

Emma follows suit, and drives back onto the highway, determined not to make any more stops.

They have a glaring contest through the rearview mirror, but Emma turns the radio on and they pretend to ignore each other for a little while. It's only an hour into their trip, and already Emma's legs are cramping.

Regina's also shifting uncomfortably, but Emma assumes that has more to do with the injuries on the woman's torso and less to do with the car ride. The ER staff in Boston deemed Regina fit to travel, but she will have to see another doctor in Maine.

They pass the afternoon in silence, hitting no traffic, in spite of the rush hours. It's midweek, and most of the cars are driving the opposite direction.

Regina occasionally jerks to attention, as though she's fighting sleep.

Emma thrums the wheel with her fingers and puts the radio on low, and when she glances over her shoulder again, she sees that Regina's succumbed. Without her guard up, Regina looks even more beautiful.

Emma can't seem to keep her eyes on the road, and when a deer darts in front of her, she turns sharply and swerves onto the shoulder of the highway.

"It's just a deer," Emma yelps. "Everything's okay!"

But Regina's awakened from her deep sleep, and fumes, "You idiot! If I had known you were going to be the agent assigned to protect me, I would have declined. This is the second time you've put my life in danger in the last 24 hours." She throws open the door of the car and Emma's forced to run after her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Emma huffs. "I don't know if you noticed, but we're in the middle of nowhere, and you can't honestly expect me to control the wildlife. Look lady, if you keep walking, I'm just going to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder, because I don't have the patience for this – "

"I guarantee you'll regret doing that," Regina states assertively, and ignores Emma's warning.

Emma grabs Regina's arm and lifts the tinier woman with no effort. She notices for the first time that Regina's wearing heels when Regina begins squirming and kicking, but Emma makes it back to the car and deposits her cargo onto the seat.

Emma ignores Regina, shuts the door, and then puts the child-lock on to avoid any further issues, though she wouldn't put it past Regina to break a window.

"Your son is probably waiting for us," Emma says, because the kid's escort left earlier than they did, and Regina shows no signs of calming down. "I don't like taking the tough approach with you because you've already been through so much, but you're my responsibility now, and I take that duty very seriously. You can trust me."

"I trust no one," Regina seethes indignantly. "Least of all you. But I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Yeah," Emma quietly disagrees. "You do. You can choose to trust me, or at least give me a chance."

Emma doesn't know why she expects a response to that.

Regina says nothing for what remains of their trip, and Emma thinks that any trust between them will have to be hard earned.


	2. Chapter 2

Booth and Jones are waiting with the kid when Emma and Regina arrive. While Regina has a teary-eyed reunion with Henry, Emma checks out the luxury trailer where her colleagues will be providing extra surveillance.

Neither Booth nor Jones has any new information, but Emma gets the sense that they both blame her for their lame assignments.

"The story we're telling the kid is that his mom witnessed a crime," Booth explains. "He seems pretty calm about the whole situation, and we want to keep it that way. Mills only agreed to this arrangement because we promised we wouldn't be intrusive, so you're bunking in with her. Me and Jones will camp out in the trailer."

"I think the general idea is that because you're both women, she'll be more likely to cry on your shoulder," Jones remarks, catching Emma's eye. "But DuBois forgets you're about as sensitive and cuddly as a porcupine."

"I can get her to talk to me," Emma insists, though Regina's standing at a distance and glaring back at her. She's sure she will get Regina to talk, but not tonight. She's still pissed off over this assignment, and she needs some time to clear her mind.

They all unload the cars, and then Jones sets up the cameras while Emma heads into town to find groceries. She gets a little lost and takes her time exploring.

It's late when she returns and drops off a paper bag of Chinese food for Booth and Jones. She hurries up the steps and into the cabin she'll share with Regina and her son, surprised to find that Regina's been waiting for her.

"It's ten o'clock," Regina growls. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Don't get mad," Emma sighs and holds up the takeaway bags of food. "I brought dinner."

Henry lets out a whoop of delight and Emma passes the bag to him. He sits at the small kitchen table and pops open a paper container of noodles.

"You call this dinner?" Regina persists. "Where are the groceries, Miss Swan? You might eat like a bachelor, but I have a son, and he needs three nutritious meals a day—"

"The kid seems happy to me," Emma observes, although she hasn't said two words to Henry. Still, the boy is shoving noodles into his mouth with a pair of wooden chopsticks. How much happier can anyone get? "I'll take you to the store in the morning and we can pick up whatever you think we need."

Henry continues munching without complaint, and Regina begrudgingly joins him at the table.

The kid seems interested in Emma's work, and Emma spends the entire meal explaining the ins-and-outs of her job as an agent. She talks about her training, the types of the equipment she uses, and the goals of her work, all while carefully avoiding the stories that are inappropriate for kids. Even Regina appears mildly intrigued.

Henry's not so bad, and Emma begins thinking that it might even be nice to have the kid around. He's brought along a suitcase full of comic books and video games; he also takes her side on more than just the Chinese food.

"Open your fortune cookies," Henry demands, pushing them across the table in Emma and Regina's direction. "Mine says, 'when fear hurts you, conquer it and defeat it!' Cool, right? What does yours say?"

"Mine says 'a lifetime of happiness is in store for you,'" Emma snorts. "This is already inaccurate, unless I'm getting a re-do of the last thirty-five years."

"Maybe something good will happen," Henry reasons, but Emma's too distracted by Regina, and only half-listening to his muttering about heroes and happy endings. The kid must be reading too many stories.

Regina scrutinizes Emma almost sympathetically, but it's hard to get a read on what the brunette is thinking.

"Mom, let me see yours," Henry nags, pushing close to his mother and snatching the slip of paper from Regina's hands. "It says, 'the love of your life is sitting across from you.'" He glances up at Emma, who flushes red and lets out a nervous laugh.

Regina also chuckles and runs her fingers through Henry's hair with motherly affection. "It's true," she smiles brightly. "You are the love of my life."

But Henry's not an idiot, and Emma sees that he's noticed the flaw in Regina's statement. Emma is positioned directly across from Regina.

Regina gives her a fleeting but intense look, and before Henry can verbalize a protest, she's hushing him with talk of bedtime.

Henry follows his mother's instructions, but Emma catches the kid sneaking a flashlight off to bed along with one of his heavier storybooks. She's impressed by Henry's deviousness, especially given the fact he has a mother who's clearly a hard ass.

"Henry's a pretty cool kid," Emma admits, after Regina comes into the living room from tucking him into bed.

"He's my whole world," Regina agrees, as she finds a throw blanket in the closet and makes herself comfortable on the couch. "Thank you for indulging all of his questions this evening."

Emma rolls her shoulders in a shrug and then sinks into an armchair. "It's the least I could do, especially after how I treated his mother. I'm sorry about this afternoon and I'm sorry about last night."

Regina barely nods, but breathes out, "I suppose I accept your apology."

It's not a strong reassurance that there will be lasting peace between them, but Emma finds herself relaxing for the first time in months. They decide to put on a movie, but after two hours the movie ends, and neither of them move from their comfortable spots.

"Why are you unhappy?" Regina asks her unexpectedly.

"What?" For a moment, Emma forgets what she'd said about her fortune. "Oh, that. I was just joking."

Regina squints at her skeptically, but Emma deflects by talking about the parts of her life she finds fulfilling.

"My job is my main focus," Emma explains. "Maybe some day I'll have a family, but it's pretty hard to maintain a relationship when I'm constantly traveling for work." She leaves out the small detail that she once had a relationship that mattered to her, but it didn't last. "What about you?"

"I studied law," Regina tentatively begins. "I practiced for a little while, but then I started a non-profit for women who find themselves in tough domestic situations. I'm fortunate to have Marian. She's such a supportive partner—"

"Wait—Marian is like, your romantic partner?" Emma interrupts, completely taken aback by the possibility that Regina Mills might be involved with a woman.

Regina laughs at Emma's apparent mistake. "Marian is my partner, yes, but not in that sense. She and I have worked together for years. She's my closest friend."

"Oh," Emma mutters, still in shock and suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"It's not that I'm—" Regina stops, searching for a word to smooth over the misunderstanding. "I would never judge anyone for their romantic interests."

Emma licks her lips as she gives a slow nod.

"Anyway," Regina continues, "Marian is my co-director. I'm not sure what I would do without her." She winces subtly, as if she's either thinking about a subject that pains her, or she's in actual physical pain.

It's not surprising when Regina excuses herself to take her pain medicine. Emma expects Regina will just go to bed afterwards, but when she heads to her own room at the back of the cabin, she hears the woman rummaging around in the bathroom.

Regina steps out in a satin nightdress and a short bathrobe tied tightly at the waist. Emma's eye is drawn to Regina's neck and the stretch of swollen, purple skin below her collarbone. On Regina's thighs, there are bruises shaped like grasping hands.

"Have a good night, Miss Swan," Regina softly intones, keeping her eyes on Emma's face. She glides down the hall while Emma stands there, staring at her back and then the closed door.

* * *

Emma awakens to the sound of raindrops gently pattering against the roof. She peels herself out of bed and shuffles down the hallway to the bathroom. It's still dark outside, and as she fumbles with the light switch over the sink, she hears a quiet splash in the tub.

"Don't you bother knocking?" Regina softly asks, with a touch of irritation in her voice.

Emma keeps her back turned, though she can see Regina's shape in a floor length mirror that is propped against the wall. "I'm half awake and it's dark in here," she says in her own defense.

She's already thinking about how much this will set them back, and how Regina will blame her for barging in unannounced. "I'm sorry I walked in on you. The door was open-"

Anticipating an argument puts Emma on edge, but Regina surprises her.

"I thought it was locked," Regina states as calmly as possible. "Just give me a few minutes to finish up, and then the bathroom is all yours."

Emma breathes out the word "okay," and steps back into the hall to wait. She's out there longer than expected, but she's not about to complain.

Last night she'd spent an hour reading and re-reading the official records of what she found at the warehouse, the brief profiles of the suspects that her team gathered, and Regina's perplexing statements about the interrogation. The final pieces of information came from the medical documents that Whale composed, and from the emergency room staff in Boston.

Now she has a better idea of what the suspects did to intimidate Regina.

She stands patiently at the bathroom door, unaware of how her thoughts make her chin firm, and how her eyes flash with anger.

Regina opens the door to find the infuriated agent standing in her path. "What is your problem, Miss Swan?" she snaps.

"I don't—" Emma stammers. "I don't have one. I was just waiting." She realizes her arms are crossed over her chest, and drops them instantly, loosening up her stance. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Hungry, and I don't want leftover Chinese for breakfast," Regina carefully replies. She lifts her head almost haughtily in an attempt to seem unaffected, but Emma sees right through the deception.

"We can go into town," Emma offers, and swings back so Regina can pass by. "Just give me half an hour to get ready."

Emma forgets that most of the stores probably don't open until nine, but she's willing to search the town for a shop that opens early.

It doesn't take her long to shower and get dressed, and when she strolls into the living room, the house is still dark and quiet.

"Henry's sleeping later than usual," Regina mutters from her place at the window, where she's apparently been watching the rain. "I don't want to wake him."

Emma approaches slowly, and pulls up her own armchair. "I'm not usually much of an early riser, either," she admits. She's scrounged up a chocolate bar, a stale jelly donut, and a pack of pretzels that she'd stuffed in her bag for their long car ride yesterday. "Want any of this?"

Regina reluctantly takes the pack of pretzels. "Thanks," she murmurs, and then eyes the donut. "You might want to throw that in the trash."

"Why?" Emma asks, and she takes a big bite out of the donut to prove a point. "It's still good. Tastes exactly like it did yesterday, or the day before. Can't remember when I bought it."

"How do you manage to remember all of the details of a complicated case, but find it hard to remember the details of a donut?" Regina muses. "You're not exactly inspiring confidence in me."

"I usually keep food in my bag or car for times I don't make it home," Emma shrugs, wiping the strawberry jelly from her chin. "That's a pretty regular occurrence."

Two strikes of lightning light up the room, and for the first time that morning Emma gets a good glimpse at Regina's troubled face. Regina refuses to look at her, and continues to stare out at the grey-black sky.

"We should go get some actual groceries, before you feel tempted to eat anything else from the forgotten depths of your backpack," Regina huffs, while Emma digs around in the bag.

Emma stops short of pulling a soft bundled something out of a pocket. She freezes up when Regina abruptly begins scrutinizing her.

She's not sure what else she's stashed in there, but she's suddenly aware that she's tightly clutching a pair of lacy thong underwear.

"Well, it would seem you're prepared for the unexpected," Regina softly mocks.

"They're not even mine," Emma blurts without thinking, though that only makes the situation even worse.

Regina quirks an eyebrow and smirks at Emma's embarrassment.

Emma blushes profusely, and shoves the panties deeper into the pocket from whence they came. Fortunately, she does it just in time, because Henry comes barreling into the room.

He's wearing pajamas and pushing the messy bangs out of his eyes. "What are we doing today?" he asks immediately.

"You're going to get dressed, and then we're going into town," Regina instructs. "Make sure to brush your teeth."

Henry follows directions, though in his rush, the kid doesn't do such a good job of combing his hair. He's the first one in the car, and he leans between the seats to fiddle with the radio while he and Emma wait for Regina. The stations are mostly static, but he settles on one with classic rock.

"It's weird," he remarks out of the blue. "My mom doesn't seem to like you, but you're supposed to be helping us."

"Your mom doesn't seem like the type of person who has an easy time accepting help from others," Emma breathes out, with a shocking amount of honesty. "And I didn't do a great job of making her feel safe these past couple of days."

Henry accepts her explanation at face value, and slumps back to buckle his seat belt. Regina slides into the car next to Emma, and then they get on the road.

Between the carefully selected clothes and make-up, Regina's gone to lengths to cover up her injuries, and for a while it's almost like a normal trip for all of them.

They stop at a deli to get breakfast sandwiches, and while Henry slurps at chocolate milk and strolls on ahead, Emma and Regina move along at a more leisurely pace. The rain doesn't start to pick up again until they're inside of the market.

"I always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a place like this," Emma comments, as she glances at the passersby who seem to be in no hurry. "Seems quiet. Like nothing bad could ever go wrong here."

Regina says nothing, and Emma wonders why the woman has started ignoring her again.

"I think that's a common and cliché misconception," Regina finally mutters. "And that's odd coming from you, given your line of work."

The market has only a few aisles, and Emma pushes the cart while Regina picks up items they might need for the next few days. Emma tosses in cereal, three boxes of microwave popcorn and the biggest bottle of ketchup she can find on the shelf.

"You know what else is odd?" Regina adds. "Your shopping habits. Why are you buying in bulk, like you have a dozen children to feed?"

Emma puts down the twelve-pack boxes of macaroni and cheese that she's holding. "We don't know how long we're going to be here," she insists, although the cart contains only what looks like her normal weekly shopping whenever she's spending time at home. "What did you get, anyway?" she asks, taking a moment to rummage through Regina's purchases.

"Quinoa?" Emma blinks. "Agave syrup? Buckwheat pasta? Basically, things with no sugar, no taste—"

"No additives, no chemicals, and no artificial dyes," Regina emphasizes, and picks up a box of pure cane sugar. "I'm not a complete health nut, but I am careful."

Emma grabs a giant container of hot cocoa powder—the kind with ingredients she can't pronounce on the packaging. "I prefer living on the edge."

"Oh really?" Regina scoffs. "Do you want mini marshmallows, or teddy bear cookies to go with your cocoa?"

"Both," Emma emphatically huffs.

Henry wanders back to them with corn chips and gummy candy. He cleverly tucks his snacks under Emma's items while Regina's looking at the shelves.

"Can I get Pop tarts?" he asks pleadingly, bouncing on his toes.

Emma is already reaching for the box when Regina firmly says, "no."

"You can have fresh fruit with granola and yogurt," Regina adds, as if that's any real consolation.

Henry drags his feet on the way to the check out, and Emma glances at him consolingly.

They all stack the groceries onto the conveyer belt for the cashier to ring up.

"Rainy day, isn't it?" the cashier asks, making casual conversation as Emma begins bagging.

"Yeah," Emma agrees. "But it's supposed to clear up this afternoon."

Regina accidentally drops a carton of strawberries, and they tumble everywhere.

Emma glances back at Regina, Henry, and the customer behind them who stoops to help with the clean up.

Henry moves the quickest, and gets the berries that roll under the magazine rack. The man behind Regina bends, and happily returns the rogue strawberries to their carton. He doesn't notice the tension in Regina, or how his simple kindness catches her off guard.

"Thank you," Regina snaps, ripping the carton from the man's hands, and putting immediate space between them.

Emma observes, and pulls the shopping cart out of the way to let Regina through. Regina slips by, and rushes out of the shop as soon as they've paid.

* * *

Two days later, it becomes clear to Emma that Regina hasn't been sleeping. Occasionally, Regina falls asleep for twenty minutes on the couch, with her glasses on and some work documents in her lap, but Henry zooms through the living room and disrupts her every time.

That's why Emma decides to interfere the next time she finds Regina half-curled and asleep in a chair. She drapes a warm blanket over Regina, and then herds Henry away to the kitchen, towards a collection of gadgets she's lain out to show him.

Henry pokes at a device that remotely gathers intel from computer systems. He seems unimpressed by the computer chips and passive monitoring instruments. "But where's all your cool weapons?" he sulks.

"Hey kid, these are the best weapons," Emma argues. "Sometimes, if I use these, I can stop a fight before it even occurs." She's not going to teach Henry about the guns or drones, even though the kid pouts like his mother. In spite of herself, she's developing a soft spot for bottom lips that stick out a bit petulantly.

"I have something better," Henry insists, and runs off to his room. He comes back with a pair of neon green water guns and hands them to Emma. "My mom hates it when I play with these. Her friend got them for me. But mom says toy guns promote violence."

"She's right," Emma frowns.

"But these only shoot water and it's a hot day out," Henry pleads.

It's the beginning of fall, and even though the last several nights have been unseasonably cold, it's in the seventies today – not exactly a beach day, but warm enough for the kid to have a point.

"Are you sure you want to do this, kid?" Emma asks, still giving him time to back out. "I really don't want to upset your mom." She's only willing to acquiesce because she knows Regina needs to sleep, and she's out of ideas for entertaining Henry.

"Yes, let's go," Henry demands, and he's up and out the door before she can suggest any other options. He fills both of the water guns at the hose, and offers one to Emma before running off.

Instead of a yard, the cabin sits on a piece of property with trees as far as the eye can see, and the nearest neighbors live miles away. There's plenty of space for them to roam, and Henry dodges through the trees while she chases after him.

"I bet there are bad guys out here," Henry reflects when he pauses to catch his breath. "We have to keep my mom safe."

They're both breathless and soaked when they return to the house, and Emma's smiling in a way that makes her face ache.

Regina's still asleep when they creep inside, but she stirs when Emma and Henry come back into the living room after changing their clothes.

Henry's tucked his empty water gun under his arm and he begins building the pillow fort that he and Emma planned while out playing.

"Hey," Emma says softly, and sits on the surface of the coffee table across from Regina, because Henry's taking all of the cushions from the couch.

"Hey," Regina rasps in bewilderment, dazed from the unexpected nap. "What have you two been doing?" She eyes Henry's fort and the plastic guns disapprovingly, but she's clearly too sapped of energy to be upset.

"We were pretending that the forest is full of enemies," Henry reports. "It's our job to keep you safe while you regain your strength. Oh, and they out number us, so in the meantime, we have to put up a fort to hold them off for as long as possible."

Regina pales at Henry's explanation and draws a quick breath through her mouth. "Emma, may I have a word?" she asks, gesturing to the other room and out of earshot of Henry.

Emma gives her a confused nod, but follows Regina into the small sunroom at the back of the cabin and shuts the door behind them.

"I don't appreciate that you discussed what happened with my son," Regina hisses out in accusation.

"Whoa, wait," Emma starts gruffly, "I didn't tell him anything. We were playing a game, and he came up with that plot all on his own. You really need to give the kid more credit, Regina. He's not stupid. He can see that you're hurting – that you can barely walk, and you haven't been sleeping. He sure as hell realizes that this trip isn't a vacation. Why don't you just tell him the truth?"

"Why? So he can be afraid to sleep at night?" Regina snaps without censoring herself. "I don't want that type of childhood for Henry."

"Okay, I get it," Emma sighs, and her eyes are like the sea after a hurricane, when the tumultuous waves have brought up the greenery from the depths. "You don't have to worry about me telling Henry anything. I wouldn't have done that anyway. It's not my place."

Regina's shoulders release from their tense posture.

"I just want to know – what can I do to help?" Emma asks.

Regina stiffens again. "Nothing," she huffs exasperatedly, but she's hugging herself at the elbows. "I truly am fine. Thank you for your concern."

Henry drags them both back to the living room after that and shows off the work he's done in their absence. "Check out the fort!" he demands. "There's even room for my whole team." He's lined up all of his action figures to protect the couch pillows.

Emma keeps him company while Regina makes dinner—pasta with extra tomato sauce for Henry and butter and cheese for Emma. Regina even offers plates to Booth and Jones, and the other officers who will be rotating out duties so the men can both go home on the weekend. Emma is supposed to have time off, too, but she doesn't have anywhere to be.

Henry falls asleep on the couch after a full meal and two movies, so Emma carries him to bed for Regina. Her phone rings just as she's putting him down and she steps out of the room to answer it.

"It's me," Lance announces. "Are you alone?" He waits for confirmation that she is by herself before continuing with his news. "We found the guys you tracked down to that warehouse, and the guys that they were meeting."

"Did you question them yet? I want to come down to Boston for that," Emma says, and she's half-tempted to call in her sub so she can use her free days to travel.

"Can't question them," Lance explains. "They were the victims of an execution-style beheading. It would have been hard to link some of them to their crimes, but get this: all of their heads were shipped in a box to Mills' place of work."

Emma covers the phone with her hand and quirks a brow as she moves down the hall to her bedroom.

"This is why I wanted you to watch her every move," Lance reveals conspiratorially. "Mills would have motivation, but she's only been in contact with one person—Marian Sherwood, whose story checks out. She reported the delivery. Someone else must have learned of what happened, and decided to take action. I'm investigating a few leads. There's a lot more to this than meets the eye, Swan. Continue to touch base with me daily."

"Tell me about your leads," Emma practically begs, but Lance hangs up without saying goodbye. She curses under her breath, and goes to check on Regina.

It's not that Regina requires constant supervision. It's just that Emma's grown accustomed to their nightly routine of sitting in front of the television together. She's disappointed when she finds the living room empty, but she hears Regina in the kitchen scrubbing dishes.

Regina stands with her back turned, and over the sound of running water, confesses, "At one point in my life, I was involved with all of the wrong people. It's possible that I was targeted because one of them needed me to take the blame for something they had done. Either way, it's been a week, and I want to take Henry home. He can't afford to miss any more school, and he misses his friends. Your team can provide me with the same monitoring services in Boston."

Two wrinkles of disbelief appear on Emma's forehead. She knows the immediate threat has passed, given the recent news from DuBois, but it's still safer to stay put for a few days. "I really don't think that's best," she quietly stresses. "You're going to put yourself and your kid in unnecessary danger. It's really negligent—"

Emma's learned that Regina's like gunpowder—a little fire will make the woman explode. Regina turns, and gracefully but threateningly crosses the distance between them. All Emma can do is swallow hard and try to maintain eye contact, though it's a challenge.

"I would never put my son in harm's way. How dare you accuse me of that?" Regina fumes, but her rage dulls and she takes a deep breath through her nostrils. She's softer when she rumbles, "Let me tell you something, Miss Swan. I do whatever it takes to protect the people I love."

"Noted," Emma states, although her mind is already whirring with all that Regina's words imply. Is it possible Regina arranged to murder her enemies from afar without Lance or any members of their team finding out about it?

It's the first time Emma has allowed the thought to come to mind, because previously she didn't think Regina seemed capable of managing such a feat—but now, she's less sure.

Neither one of them will move or back down. Emma's palms are starting to sweat from the confrontation. She's faced plenty of nutcases in the past, but none of them were capable of riling her like this woman.

"Who are these bad people that might have set you up?" Emma asks, pulling herself up to her full height. "Why didn't you mention them before?"

"Because I have no evidence," Regina husks, and her eyes wander down to Emma's lips for a brief moment. "I just have a hunch, and that isn't enough to accuse anyone– "

Emma blinks rapidly and scrunches her brow in confusion from the heady feeling she gets from being close to Regina. She puts some distance between them, for two very important professional reasons, or so she tells herself: Regina's been withholding information, and she's pretty sure the appropriate response to that discovery is not to develop the impulsive urge to kiss the woman on the mouth.

"Give me their names and we can investigate quietly," she suggests.

"I don't think that would be wise," Regina cautions. "I know what this case means to you, but I don't have any new information. What I do have now is a massive headache. I'm going to bed." She slides by Emma, and walks out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Emma returns to the living room and plops down on the couch to think. She turns the television on and shuts her eyes to run through the events of the last few days in her head.

Around two A.M., she jerks awake and knocks over a stack of grant proposals that Regina's left on the table. She's in the process of picking the papers up when she spots Regina's planner and decides to flip through it.

Regina's already made plans to return home, if the number of appointments on the calendar is any indication. Emma grabs her phone and snaps pictures of the next few days and weeks of Regina's schedule. She feels like a stalker, but as she's in the middle of rationalizing and justifying the decision to herself, an interesting thing happens.

A business card and a few sheets of paper fall out from the pages of the planner and land with a flutter in front of her.


	3. Chapter 3

I'd say warnings apply for this chapter. Please consider leaving a review, as I always appreciate them. I don't normally request such feedback, but this story actually took a lot for me to write. Thank you for understanding.

(To answer the question of someone who reviewed, this is a Swan Queen story. But we do get some moments of Dragon Queen in this chapter, though they are merely friends with a romantic history, as I imagine them being on the show).

* * *

On her third day back in Boston, Regina Mills takes a scalding hot shower, puts on a black pants suit, and drops her son off at school. She's in the turning lane that will take her to work, but abruptly swerves right, and onto the street that leads her home.

The spacious, two-story house seems quieter than usual without Henry, and she makes a point of creating a lot of noise. She brews coffee, and dusts the shelves, and calls Marian simply for an excuse to talk. The chat lasts all of two minutes before she zones out, twirling the phone cord in her hand.

"Regina?" Marian repeats. "Did you hear what I just said? I asked if you wanted some company."

Regina's heart leaps with eagerness to accept, but she catches sight of the circles under her eyes in the nearest mirror. "That's alright," she mutters hoarsely. "It's bad enough that I've been out of the office for a week. I'll just call you later."

She spends the rest of the morning in her study, and just as she's about to climb the stairs to lie down, the doorbell rings. At first, she expects Marian, but it's another familiar face that greets her - an old friend, who strikes a casual pose in a smart grey suit, but sweeps through the door with a frantic energy as soon as Regina opens it.

Mallory Bellamy is as high-strung and tempestuous as ever. "I had a visitor today," she announces, all sibilant twang and over enunciated sass. "A Miss Emma Swan. I thought she was just a jealous girlfriend until I realized she's investigating a crime. What happened?"

"You're a litigator," Regina laughs through gritted teeth. "Surely her line of questioning gave you a clue." She crosses her arms in discomfort under Mal's scrutiny, and then breaks from her stiff posture to lead the way into the living room.

"Do you want to enlighten me as to why she seems to think I'm a suspect?" Mallory growls out. "What did you tell her about our history?"

"Nothing," Regina mutters with a miffed quirk of her eyebrow. "I told her nothing. I'm not even sure how she got your name."

Mallory moves forward without warning and grabs her.

Regina's too stunned by the familiarity of it all to do much more than gape up at the taller, imposing woman. Mallory runs a caressing finger along her cheek, and sympathetically looks into her eyes.

Regina gulps as Mallory spins her around and yanks up the bottom of her shirt to see her slightly faded and sickly, purple-green injuries.

"Let me go," she yelps, sounding far too small and girlish for her liking. Regina regains control and staggers away.

"I could never have done this," Mallory rasps. "Not even with your consent. Did you tell Emma about your previous lifestyle?"

Regina glares hard at nothing. "It's not relevant to figuring out who's responsible, so no, I didn't," she mutters.

"You and I both know that the general public doesn't understand that the types of acts we engage in can be quite loving," Mal curtly explains. "Emma is aware you were a student of mine... But she's not aware that you were also my student in other ways."

"That's none of her business," Regina hisses softly.

"Some judges would rule that you were getting exactly what you asked for that night, because you'd sought and dealt out similar forms of 'punishment' for sexual gratification in the past." Mallory has never been one to hold back her opinions, and Regina's starting to weary of the conversation.

"Did you come all the way over here just to tell me that?" Regina asks in a hushed, even voice.

"I came over here because I figured you could use a friend," Mallory admits. "I brought the girls along, but I made them wait out in the car in case you didn't welcome my company."

"I'm fine with your company," Regina breathes, "But I'm not in college anymore. I keep a tidy home for my son-"

"And we respect that, darling!" Carla Deville calls from the foyer. "That's why we only brought three bottles of Pinot Grigio."

Ursula Martin follows Carla into the living room, takes one look at Regina and frowns. "I'm going to give you a hug," she states, and then wraps Regina in an awkward embrace. "You know I've been wanting to do that for years, but you were always so damn standoffish. Anyway, where's your phone? I'll call and order us a pizza."

An hour later, Regina's sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine. Ursula's the only one interested in the pizza, and perches cross-legged across from Carla with a slice of pepperoni and anchovies.

Carla's drunk enough that she's half forgotten the reason they came over in the first place. "How about a little party game," she drawls dramatically. "Something to cheer you up."

"What do you have in mind?" Mal asks, and Regina wonders if times have truly changed, because Mallory would never entertain Carla's drunken proposals in the past.

"Well, first we invite that snooping little blonde inside," Carla snickers. "Emma Swan, isn't it? She's parked just on the other side of the street."

"Emma isn't snooping," Regina frowns. "It's her job to watch my home. There are security cameras outside-"

"Nonsense," Carla tuts. "She's a snoop."

"She does seem rather invested," Ursula observes. "I mean, you'd expect that, but she asked all of us a lot of questions about your personal life. Fortunately you don't have one, so we didn't have to lie."

"Invite her in," Mallory sedately commands, and there's a glimmer of trouble in Carla's eye that makes Regina feel ill at ease.

Carla skips up from the couch and goes out to chat with Emma, and minutes later they're both walking into the living room.

Emma cheerfully helps herself to a slice of pizza after Ursula offers it. "Thanks," she smiles, oblivious to the fact that she's everyone's focus. "I was just going for my break. Haven't eaten all day."

Regina drinks the rest of her wine. She intends to remain sober, but Mal pours her another glass and she finds herself swallowing down the warm liquid in spite of herself.

"So, Miss Swan," Carla crisply intones. "Are you a lesbian, or do you only dress like one?"

Emma chokes on her pizza and sits up straighter, as if it's her posture that's giving her away. "I-" she stutters. "I don't have the time to get involved with anyone." Her eyes dart to Regina. She licks her bottom lip nervously, and then confidently admits, "But I like plaid, and I like women. Got a problem with that?"

"The plaid, yes," Carla sniffs haughtily.

"Just ignore Carla," Ursula urges, and flippantly waves her hand in the air. "She doesn't know how to make friends."

But it's not Carla that Regina's worried about. Mallory is sizing Emma up in a way that makes Regina shift in subtle discomfort.

"Who said anything about making friends?" Mal asks with a menacing flick of her eyelashes. "I'm sure Emma knows that isn't the purpose of this little chat."

Regina sets down her wine glass and shoots Mallory a wary glare. "Don't," she warns, but Mallory's mind is clearly made up and Emma Swan is reactive. There's no avoiding whatever is to come.

"As you continue with your investigation, it's in your best interest to be discreet," Mal meditatively informs Emma. "I did a little digging myself this afternoon. I have quite a few personal connections in the FBI. Turns out you don't exactly have a spotless record, Agent Swan. You use whatever means necessary to get the job done, and you're frequently careless. You'd better be more cautious from this day forward."

Emma raises an eyebrow and boldly sticks out her chin. "Threatening me just makes it seem like you have something to hide," she shrugs.

"Everyone has secrets," Mallory coyly muses. "Mine aren't as damning as yours. One of my connections read the files on Operation Cobra, and I have to say, you screwed up royally."

Emma's suddenly ghostly pale and straight-faced. "You can't always trust reports," she shrugs. "I take responsibility for my actions, but what was put into writing is very black and white. I'm not going to let you use my past against me."

"I won't, so long as you ensure that no harm comes to my dear friend," Mal caustically replies.

"It's my duty to protect Regina," Emma states fiercely, and then suddenly Mallory's entire energy changes.

Mallory appears pleased but also intrigued, and Regina takes advantage of the break in the tension. She interrupts before Mallory can continue her conversation with Emma. "Henry will be home soon."

She sounds meek and not at all like the commanding woman she considers herself. "I need to make him an after school snack, and you should all get back to work… or whatever it is you people do. " She wants to make a fast escape from this reunion from hell, but Ursula and Carla hastily decline, and she realizes that all of her old friends have come here with a mind to stay.

Henry breezes though the door at top speed, and she's unsurprised to see Marian tagging along after him.

"I picked him up early," Marian explains, and glances over Regina's shoulder at her visitors. "Thought you could use some help around here, and I've hardly seen you since you got back. What's going on? Are you having a party without me?"

"These are just some unexpected guests," Regina admits in a light voice, and her lips twist indecisively, smiling and cringing at once. She rubs her hands together out of nervous habit, and retreats further into the foyer.

Henry seems delighted that Mallory and Emma are in his living room. He throws his backpack aside and carelessly kicks off his shoes. The panic Regina's been experiencing all day begins to subside as she watches her son. She's so wrapped in Henry that she doesn't realize that Marian's reaching for her. She gasps and flinches in reflex and fright. The room around her goes quiet, and she meets Emma's eyes first.

Emma likes to pretend that she knows how to school her emotions, but Regina sees right through her newest acquaintance. Emma's skin turns a shade paler, and she's gawking compassionately.

It's all overwhelming, and Regina shrinks away from the unwanted pity like a tiny critter hiding from sudden light.

"Hey mom." Henry pipes up, looking clever as he angles his eyebrow at her. "You should invite everyone to stay for dinner." He's doing his best to smooth over the awkward situation, and Regina appreciates him for it.

"Of course," Regina quickly agrees, although she'd rather distance herself from everyone, with the exception of Henry. "You're all welcome to stay."

"Why don't we order in?" Emma suggests.

Mallory—who knows Regina better—insists that she, Carla and Ursula will cook. Henry bounces off to help with the dinner preparations, and then Regina's left alone with Emma and Marian.

The two women have already spoken to each other several times over the past few days, so Regina can't even redirect the conversation with introductions or small-talk. She's stuck staring at their solemn, patient faces.

"How are you holding up?" Marian murmurs, and she cautiously steps forward again as if wanting to offer comfort without knowing how.

Regina clears her throat and sinks down into an armchair. "I'm tired," she confesses. "But I'm sure Miss Swan is much more exhausted from the past two weeks."

Marian turns to Emma with a rumpled brow and asks, "did you find out who sent that package to our office?"

Regina's eyes skip curiously to Emma, and she wonders what Marian means. "What package," she finally grates.

Emma freezes up and glances down at her in worry. "I meant to tell you earlier today." Her voice warbles like she's lying, then she licks her lips. "The guys who were responsible for abducting you and taking you to that warehouse - they were found. They're dead, and we don't know who's responsible. Their murder looks like an act of revenge."

Regina gapes up at Emma, feeling irrationally angry that she's been kept in the dark about what transpired. Her sleepless nights might have been more peaceful if she knew that the men who attacked her would never be a problem for her again. She purses her lips, which quiver with frustrated emotion, and mutters a strained "excuse me" before rushing off to the bathroom and locking herself inside.

Left alone, she flips on the taps to let the water run and stares at her face in the mirror above the sink. The woman across from her seems barely recognizable, and she watches the near stranger as if she expects the image to move-to prove that she's not the one with dark circles under her eyes, or tears streaming down her cheeks. She hugs herself, and folds her legs under her body as she sits in front of the bathroom door.

"Regina?" Marian calls a while later, and tries to turn the knob when she doesn't answer. "Dinner is ready. I'm going to wait for you, okay?"

Regina squeezes herself, and muffles a soft sob, which she's been holding in for days. She won't budge, but she knows she's only making matters worse if she stays. All of her friends have already made their own assumptions about her and the situation, and if she has to look at their pitying faces for one more second, she'll have to admit to herself how much she hurts. She can't do that.

Decisively, she forces her legs to cooperate, and stands up to tidy her make-up and brush back her hair. "I'll be right there," she states sharply, and waits it out until she looks composed. When she swings open the door, Marian steps out of her way as she storms straight at Emma.

"Henceforth, you'll keep me informed about any developments in the case that involve me personally," she orders. "If you want my complete cooperation with the investigation, which I know you do, then there won't be any more oversights like this one."

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you," Emma insists.

Regina's baffled by how easily she wants to accept the apology, but she clings to her self-righteous rage.

"No!" she barks. "Look, Miss Swan. We aren't friends. This is your job, and from day one it's seemed you haven't taken it seriously." She's talking out of anger now. They certainly had a rocky beginning, but since then Emma has been nothing considerate of her, and she knows how invested Emma is in her work. "You're on far too familiar terms with me, and frankly I don't care for it. You should have spoken to me about what occurred, instead of shielding me from it, or whatever it is you thought you were doing-"

"I was investigating you," Emma admits, squaring her jaw. "There's a lot to this whole case, Madame Mills, and it goes way beyond your part in it. You really have no idea what I'm dealing with-"

"I have no idea? Get out of my house," Regina snaps, and Emma hesitates, so she repeats herself louder. "Get out!"

Emma backs away, and then hurries for the door.

Regina sticks her head in the air, indulging her anger as a defense, but she cools when Henry comes to check on the commotion.

"What happened to Emma?" Henry pouts, giving her puppy dog eyes. "Why did you yell at her? I wanted her to stay for dinner!"

"We don't always get what we want," Regina seethes; she's irrationally furious that Emma's feelings are her son's first concerns. "Go and eat, and then I want you to head upstairs to begin your homework."

Marian looks like she wants to interfere, and Regina's well aware that three more sets of eyes are on her-Carla, Ursula and Mallory are watching her with disquieted expressions.

"This isn't fair," Henry argues, because she's always taught him to stand up for himself. "I know the truth about what happened. You're acting crazy, just because those bad guys hurt you—"

Regina grabs Henry by the wrist-gently, but powerfully and guides him into the dining room. "I won't have you talking back to me," she states. "Eat your dinner, and go straight up to your room. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

Henry makes a face and picks up his fork. He stabs at his carrots and proceeds to ignore her presence.

She leaves the room, because her son is right-she overreacted, but she feels justified and safe in her fury, even if her heart aches over what she just told Henry.

Ursula and Carla have slipped out in the time it's taken her to yell at her son. With a meaningful glance back at Mallory, Marian steps off to join Henry at dinner.

"You need to get ahold of yourself," Mallory frowns. "He's just a little boy. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"I'm sorry. Is he your son?" Regina snidely asks.

"He should have been," Mallory answers honestly, and Regina hates the look on her face-the genuine, sorrowful look that Regina's only seen in the direst situations.

"You only discouraged me from having children," Regina husks, and goes to pour herself a glass of hard cider. "Don't act like you have regrets over what happened between us."

"I would have been there for you-but I distinctly remember you were intent upon punishing me," Mallory huffs with a quirk of her eyebrow, and takes the drink from Regina's hand. "You don't want to behave this way in front of your son. You need to rest, and I'm not leaving here until you're tucked into bed."

Regina gives Mallory a scornful look and stalks off to her study. She hears Henry scampering by, and Marian ascends the stairs with him. It's still far too early to go to bed, but he'll do his homework, and perhaps Marian will read to him.

Regina settles in behind her desk. Her first instinct is to call someone, but she's indecisive over which numbers to push and her hand falters.

Mallory looms in her doorway, and darkly studies the antique clock. "You shouldn't have chased Emma Swan away," she rumbles. "You want answers? Swan's a sucker. She's emotionally invested in this case, and she'll tell you everything she knows if you're patient enough with her. Then you can pick up the phone and call in a few favors. Deal with any remaining threat."

"I don't need your advice." Regina puts on a show of indifference, but she knows she won't rest until she learns why she's been targeted. "I could, however, use a favor. Will you stay here with Henry and Marian? I need to run an errand. I won't be long."


	4. Chapter 4

Regina's "errand" involves trailing after Emma once the agent is off duty for the day. She takes Marian's coat and car keys, and leaves around seven o'clock when the next change in shift takes place. By then her buzz from the alcohol has worn off.

To the knowledge of her security team, she's safe in the comfort of her home.

In actuality, she's behind the wheel of Marian's sedan, following Emma's range rover through the city and towards the nightlife by the wharf. If her hunch is right, Emma Swan doesn't just take an evening off. Regina parks on the street, far behind where Emma pulls over.

It's a breezy, rainy night, and the wind whips at the hood of Regina's borrowed coat, even as she holds it in place. She sloshes through puddles and moves as fast as she can, while trying to shield her eyes from the splatter of raindrops. It's hard to keep track of Emma, though the woman's stride is so distinctive.

They're headed for a lounge or club, and it looks upscale enough that Regina might have trouble getting in with her plain, businesslike attire.

All Emma will have to do is flash her badge, but the agent only nods to the woman at the door, and then passes inside without sharing any credentials.

"I'm with her," Regina breathlessly states, and gestures after Emma with a sweep of her arm.

The woman at the door gives her an openmouthed stare, as if the idea either insults or shocks her. "With Swan?" she gapes. "Swan didn't tell me she had a girlfriend."

"Perhaps because I initially turned her down, and then made her beg," Regina replies without batting an eyelash; then she pouts in mockery of her fictional, begging Emma.

"Well, I'm Ashley," the woman shrugs, and steps aside to allow Regina through. "Swan's a regular, and I would consider her a friend, so be good to her, okay? She's probably at the bar waiting for you."

"Thank you, Ashley," Regina dryly intones. As she enters the lounge, she finds that the woman's tip is helpful: Emma Swan is perched at the bar over a glass of whiskey.

The bar itself isn't what Regina assumed it would be—the interior is much shabbier than she expected, and it appears that Emma is indeed taking a night off.

Regina's on the verge of turning around and leaving when Emma glances up and looks directly at her. So she begrudgingly strikes out across the small dance floor and slides onto the empty stool beside Emma.

"What are you doing here?" Emma snaps, like a frustrated mother who has found her kid out of bed in the middle of the night. "Did you follow me? How did you even sneak away?"

"Your security team isn't as observant as they should be. Neither are you, for that matter," Regina softly answers, and nods to the bartender to bring her a drink. "I'll have what she's having," she hums, with a flick of her eyelashes in Emma's direction. Her poison of choice is never whiskey, and yet the smoky taste of it soothes her. The whiskey hits her bloodstream, and she fleetingly wonders about the woman at her side. Emma Swan excites all of her extreme emotions, and she can't rationalize why that is, but she won't think about it too deeply—she's been under an extraordinary amount of stress, and in part, the fault for that lies with Emma. She's still infuriated by what happened earlier, but she also has a plan.

Regina will have to try to look past Emma's errors if she wants to be successful with what she's about to propose. "I want to help you find whoever was responsible for my abduction," she calmly states. "Clearly the men who carried it out were not calling the shots, and although they're dead, I don't for a second think I'm safe. So, who is behind this? Are they drug dealers? Do they trade in weaponry? The best chance you have at this point is to use me to lure them - "

Emma takes a long gulp of her whiskey, and leans heavily on one elbow over the bar. She's obviously not keen with Regina's idea, but from the way she withdraws, Regina can tell that it's a plan that the agent's already been considering.

"You can't do it," Emma flatly argues. "It's really high risk. I doubt we'd get authorization, and no offense, but look at you." Her hand flew wildly as if to indicate something, and Regina stares down at herself, perplexed by what that might be.

"You're like…I don't know, some hot trophy wife," Emma blurts out at last. "I'm not downplaying your accomplishments, but you have a finishing school background. Growing up, I went to the school of hard knocks. You, on the other hand… you're…delicate—"

"Delicate?" Regina hisses in disgust, and she has half a mind to shove Emma to the floor. "Listen, Ms. Swan, you might have a bunch of files that tell you some of the details of my life, but you truly don't know much about me."

"Arm wrestle me," Emma demands suddenly, and reaches out to take a flabbergasted Regina's hand.

Regina swats Emma's gripping fingers away, but the agent balls her fist around Regina's knuckles.

"Give it your best shot," Emma insists, and rolls up her long sleeve to reveal a well-rippled, muscular arm. "If you're strong enough to beat me, then I'll seriously consider what you're suggesting."

"This is absurd," Regina protests, but they move to a table for more leverage and she finishes her glass of whiskey for some liquid courage. She flexes her smaller muscle, and compares it to Emma's well-toned bicep.

If she's going to play, Regina is going to play to win – and that will only happen through mental rather than physical strength.

As their hands lock over the table, Regina leans completely forward and gazes at Emma with so much intensity that the agent blinks furiously and loses focus. Regina's not afraid to take it one step further, to distract Emma with a further invasion of personal space, but she's already significantly flustered her opponent.

Emma releases her hand and draws back, utterly confused by what's happening. "What the hell was that?" she splutters.

"I was intimidating you, and it worked," Regina triumphantly snorts, gloating over her victory as she stands up.

"I don't call that intimidation," Emma practically growls, and they're staring at each other heatedly, as if they might hit each other or share a turbulent kiss.

"I call it a win by deception," Regina finally murmurs, and then she waves at the bartender for another drink. She never drinks this much, but the whiskey in her veins makes her feel powerful, and she's missed this feeling. She's missed feeling powerful.

There have been many times in her life when she was at the mercy of others, and she's vowed to herself that this most recent experience wouldn't break or even bend her—yet the sudden thought of the attack makes her sway a bit after all, or maybe that's just another side effect of the drinking.

Emma's whining about a rematch, but Regina only chuckles quietly as she lifts her glass of whiskey to her lips. She settles back at the table, and Emma continues brooding until a waitress appears with some menus.

The waitress is thin and tall, with fake eyelashes and wild red make-up that goes with the clip-in streaks in her dark hair. She's friendly, and beams down at them with a bright smile as she squeals, "Em—l just came in for my shift, and I was so surprised to hear that you brought a girl around. Introduce us."

Emma's slumped in defeat, but the waitress' exuberance quickly pulls her out of her mood. "What, you mean Regina?"

Regina lifts her chin, and puts on her best poker face. "You could do a better job of introducing me, dear," she rumbles critically.

"I'm Ruby," the waitress cheerfully pipes in, ignoring Emma's odd behavior. "It's nice to meet you, Regina. I'll be right back with your food."

As Ruby bounces off to put Emma's order in, still under the impression that the two women have been seeing each other for a while, Emma spins to face Regina. "Why does Ruby think we're together?" she asks, spilling her whiskey on the tabletop in the process. This whole charade has brought out her latent clumsiness, and she's behaving like an awkward teen on her first date.

Regina's entirely too amused by the situation, and shrugs casually. "I told the woman at the door that we'd been on a couple of dates," she remarks. "I'm perfectly capable of thinking on my feet when the situation calls for it, and I wasn't sure if this was an exclusive lounge. It certainly looks nicer on the outside than it does on the inside."

Emma mops up the whiskey with a paper napkin and then thrums her fingers on the table. "I'm guessing this is all part of convincing me that you'll be an asset to the investigation," she concludes. "I have to admit, going on a date with me is a pretty nice bribe, but I'm still not sure you could hold your own in a fight."

"Who ever said this was an actual date?" Regina scoffs, and re-positions herself so that she's sitting cross-legged. It matters very little that Emma Swan is exactly her type, with a little less polish than she's accustomed to – although if she's being honest with herself, she's always been attracted to more roguish individuals.

Emma's face flushes red with color, but she covers for it by reasoning aloud, "Well, we're having a couple of drinks together. You mentioned I hardly know anything about you, and this seems like a perfect opportunity to get to know each other," she suggests.

Ruby interrupts them and drops a basket of hot wings in front of Emma. The waitress' sudden appearance gives Regina the chance to really consider whether or not she wants to develop even a tentative friendship with Emma. It's never been easy to have any kind of relationship with anyone, and she doubts it will be worthwhile.

"You want to get to know me?" Regina asks, unaware of how her eyes shine at the prospect of that—but she's still got her defenses up, and there's a clear reluctance in her body language. How can she possibly trust Emma after the past week has been so hectic, and when the woman might have ulterior motives?

"Yeah. Let's get to know each other." It's the first time Emma smiles genuinely, and she takes a little breath of relief that lifts her shoulders. "I'll start." She swirls her whiskey around in her glass, and places it next to her wings almost as an after thought. "Since we're on the topic of dating, I can tell you that the last woman I went out with broke all of my DVDs because she thought I was cheating on her. Then she found out that my only mistress is my job. It's been a really long time since I went out on a date."

Regina goes silent, and slips her arms in front of her chest as she swallows thickly. "I gathered that from the way that waitress reacted to my presence," she admits. "It's been a long time for me, too. I prefer relationships that don't involve strings. It's just easier that way, because I have Henry. He might take it personally if someone walked out of our lives."

Her serious relationships have been complicated disasters—she can't think of a single one that wasn't an elaborate power play, or in the rare case of Mallory, a bonding of two brokenhearted souls.

She keeps any other version of the past out of her head, because now isn't the time to be thinking about anyone she truly loved—not in present company, not with Emma staring at her so curiously.

Her eyelashes sweep up her tears before they fully form. "Shall we get another round of drinks?" she asks.

"If we're gonna talk about exes, then definitely," Emma's lips turn up in a slight smile, and she kicks back in her seat. "So what's the deal with you and Mallory?"

"Excuse me?" Regina blinks, already on the defensive from this little exercise.

"Carla mentioned you were involved with Mallory at one point," Emma clarifies. "It seems like you're still friends. Why'd you break it off with her?"

"She didn't support the career path I was taking," Regina cautiously explains. There's no point in lying to Emma over this part of her history; her employment records are a matter of public record, and Emma's ongoing federal investigation will no doubt involve interviewing more of Regina's personal contacts. "I decided to work for someone who is known for making questionable ethical decisions. I'm sure you've already talked to Mr. Gold."

"I might have spoken to him," Emma says, without allowing her opinion of him to show on her face. "He does business with a lot of unsavory people, but all of his dealings are perfectly legal."

"Of course they are," Regina laughs, though she's visibly riled by the reminder of Gold's practices. "His personal record is spotless, because he manipulates everyone else into doing his dirty work for him."

"Yeah," Emma softly agrees, though she still seems to be mulling it all over. "Is that what he did to you?"

Regina begins to shake her head, because this whole conversation feels like a perfectly set trap. "It's starting to seem like this is yet another interrogation," she remarks. "Let's turn this around, shall we? Why don't you tell me what went wrong in your previous relationship, and all about your professional failings?"

Emma fidgets at the prospect, but then nods seriously. "Sure," she mutters aloud to herself, and locks eyes with Regina. "I mean your friend Mallory seems capable of digging up the dirt on me anyway. I'd rather you hear the basics from me." She moves her glass around on the table, takes a quick drink, and then begins. "A couple of years ago, I was asked to interview these two guys."

Emma trails off as if she's decided to end her explanations there. Her story is choppy as she goes through a range of emotions; maybe she's never told it to someone in her personal life before. "They were defectors, and they wanted to trade information for immunity and protection," she breathes. "They told us the location of one of their bases. The problem is that their leaders anticipated what they would do. We raided the base, and they were ready. I sensed something was off, but I made a bad judgment call and pushed ahead. As a result, we lost most of my team. The rest of us became hostages. I spent a couple of weeks in a standing cell. Just when I was beginning to lose my mind, they moved me. They kept a few of us alive, and then finally it was down to just me and another guy." She holds off then, taking another drink. "They let me go after a few months. I still don't know why, but when I came back home, we had new trails to follow. So far they've all been dead ends. We bust a small crime ring here and there, but I think they're all part of a much greater network."

Regina's taken aback by all of the sudden honesty, but she has the sense that there's much more to learn about this piece of Emma's past.

"Anyway, I also had a girlfriend back then," Emma continues, jutting her chin sharply. "Didn't work out with her. She was my first and last serious relationship."

"Is that the woman who broke all of your DVDs?" Regina asks, if only because Emma's looking overwhelmed.

"Yeah," Emma shrugs, and picks up her glass of whiskey to toast with Regina. "That's not all she broke."

Regina raises her glass of whiskey and chinks it against Emma's glass. She has a newfound respect for Emma, though she doesn't say as much.

Ruby is back and forth to their table with orders, until Regina's bleary-eyed from all of the drinking. It's numbing, and as the night passes, Regina finds she wants to be numb. The thought of another sleepless night is what drives her, and even though her lips pucker in resistance, she swallows down another full glass.

When this one kicks in, she hears herself talking as if through a telephone that she forgot to hang up. "I think it's time you take me home," she tells Emma, mid-conversation. The churning of the alcohol in her stomach provides an added warning that they'd better hurry.

* * *

It seems like a long walk up the little stone path outside of Regina's home. Emma carries Regina in her arms, and the woman hardly stirs in spite of the steady rainfall.

Emma's forced to pound on the front door, even though Henry must have gone to bed hours ago. There's no other option, because she doesn't want to invade Regina's privacy by rummaging through her purse. As it is, she's going to have to face both of Regina's friends, and she doubts that'll be pretty.

Mallory props the door open, and her cool eyes travel over Regina as she waves Emma inside. "Take her upstairs," she instructs.

Marian's waiting in the living room, but she overhears the conversation, and gets up to follow everyone to the staircase.

Regina's bundled in Marian's borrowed coat to stay warm. They leave it to Marian to unzipper the wool, and remove Regina's shoes. Emma then lays Regina out on the bed.

Regina squints against the harsh light in her room and opens her mouth as if to speak. Her head falls back on her pillow. Tears stream unexpectedly from her eyes and her mascara smears a little. She sobs—a devastated, thick sound that comes from deep inside of her as she tries to sit up.

They all try to help her—Marian puts pillows behind her, while Emma holds her arm and Mallory pushes the hair away from Regina's wet face. Marian has to rearrange the pillows three or four times, until she finally finds the right positioning to make Regina comfortable.

Regina clutches at the pillows and turns on her side to stare at her night table. None of them know how to address her, and Emma feels particularly uneasy in the silence.

Marian's the first to move and sinks down onto the divan in the corner of the bedroom. She grabs a throw blanket and wraps it around herself. "I'm going to sit here for a while," she says. "Why don't you two go get some coffee?"

Mallory strides into the hall, and Emma hovers at the end of the bed for a minute before joining the taller blonde.

"What the hell happened to her?" Mallory asks, once they have coffee brewing and she's setting out the mugs. Emma's not sure how to respond, and she looks down at her feet as Mallory continues. "I have never seen Regina this drunk, and I've been with her through some pretty tough times."

This isn't so much a conversation as it is a chance to voice frustrations.

"Is she seeing a therapist?" Mallory rants, and picks up the steaming coffee pot. "She should be seeing someone to help her deal with all of this. I damn well hope she has the good sense to do that."

Emma waits for her cup of coffee, and pours sugar and milk into it. "Maybe it would help if she talked to you or Marian," she quietly states. "I think it would be best for her to speak to a friend. I guess therapy couldn't hurt, either."

Emma's only saying what she thinks Mallory will want to hear, and doesn't bother to offer up more advice on the matter; she doesn't actually believe that anything will "fix" Regina. Then again, she's biased: she's tried all kinds of therapies and none of them have succeeded in making her feel whole. After the failure of Operation Cobra, she'd been mandated to spend months in psych appointments and evaluations, and she had to lie just to get back to work.

"What those men did to her…" Emma trails off when the realization hits that she's speaking.

Mallory and Marian can only guess, but Emma knows—she read the reports, and even if she hadn't, she saw the handprints on Regina's thighs. Either Regina had tried to cover herself, or forceful hands had pried the woman's legs apart.

"I'm not an idiot," Mallory fumes, as if Emma has made some kind of direct accusation. "If all of my assault victims looked like she does, I'd win every one of my cases and put many more bastards in jail."

Emma wonders what might have happened if the guys she'd been pursuing had led her to the warehouse earlier in the evening. What would she have done if she'd come across their buddies in the act of violating Regina?

She snaps herself out of the dangerous, checked out state she's entering. "I'm gonna go… check on Regina," she tensely mutters, then wanders back upstairs.

She comes to a stop outside of Regina's bedroom. From the doorway, she sees Marian sit on the bed and rub her friend's back as Regina empties the contents of her stomach into a trash bin. Regina dry heaves a few times, and then withdraws.

They're all constrained by what they won't say, and the personal boundaries that Regina keeps firmly in place.

"I don't need you to stay," Regina mutters, when she's able to be coherent again. "It's just been a long time since I've gone out. I wasn't expecting the drinks to be so strong."

Mallory comes back into the room with a cup of coffee for Marian. "We're all spending the night," she gruffly informs Regina. "You have a guest bedroom and a couch, and one of us will sleep in here."

It's not a negotiation, and they all proceed to nurse their coffee. "I wish I had some of whatever you drank tonight to put in my coffee," Mallory says in a lighter twang.

Regina concentrates on breathing; she shuts her eyes and only moves again to swivel her head towards Emma. "You stay," she states succinctly. "Everyone else go to bed. I'm fine. I just need to sleep. I'm sorry for taking you away from your busy lives—"

Emma's surprised by Regina's choice, but doesn't even question it; she sits in the armchair by Regina's bedside, and looks expectantly at Mallory and Marian.

"Girl, I was just going to go home and watch Netflix," Marian remarks with a playful roll of her eyes. "By myself." Her attempt at humor makes everyone relax, but Regina doesn't seem to calm down until both Mallory and Marian step out of the room.

"Why'd you want me to stay?" Emma asks without wasting a second.

Regina flips over and runs a hand over the bedspread, smoothing it. "Because we hardly know each other," she whispers flatly. "But I know you're capable of being quiet."

Emma hunkers down in the armchair with a soft quilt for warmth. She shuts one eye and falls into a rapid silence—determined to prove Regina right.

Regina adjusts her pillow, and Emma can hear the woman moving around under the blankets. Then silence.

Sleeping in an upright position never bothered her, and Emma has no trouble dozing off. She's in the middle of a strange dream when she's startled awake by a noise—a loud gasp as Regina sits up in bed.

"You okay?" Emma whispers. "Regina?"

The next sound from the bed is a muffled whimper, and Emma follows her gut intuition – she gets to her feet and approaches Regina.

Regina gazes up at her in the darkness, as if making a wordless request. Emma slides into the bed, and Regina lies down again but keeps her distance.

Small shudders run through Regina as she takes in tiny gulps of air.

They're practically strangers, but Emma knows why Regina asked her to stay; Emma has already witnessed Regina in a vulnerable moment, and beyond that fact, they are beginning to understand each other.

They don't talk, and Emma respects the space between them, but she feels Regina's eyes on her even in the darkness. She watches over Regina until her eyelids droop, and then she sleeps until the alarm clock buzzes irritably at six A.M.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for the comments on the previous chapters - they are appreciated.

Warnings apply for this chapter.

* * *

Regina's still dizzy when she stretches her hand out to silence her alarm. The first morning sunlight makes her recoil. She forces her eyes open, and rubs at the remnants of tears on her neck and face. Even while feeling the effects of a hangover, she's the first person out of bed, and retreats into the bathroom before Emma moves.

Regina turns on the shower, and waits for heat to swarm the room before stepping into the stall. The water cascades between her shoulder blades, and she's grateful for this chance to make herself presentable before anyone sees her.

There's a part of her clinging to the notion that she hasn't been affected by what those men have done to her. Her friends clearly think she's in denial, except the fading bruises down her front are a constant reminder.

She fits her hands into the places where the men put their hands on her. Pressing down, it's as if she's trying to set her prints over theirs-to cover their marks with even deeper marks of her own. It hurts, and it hurts as she gingerly washes the spots where they were roughest with her.

When she's quiet, her mind has a terrible habit of skipping back to the moments when she was most degraded. Her body has internalized the back and forth movement of their thrusts, and it's stayed with her afterwards like motion sickness. She backs against the tile wall in the shower and clutches loosely at her own elbows, holding onto herself.

When she emerges from the shower, it's with purpose. She dresses in a pantsuit with a cream-colored silk blouse, and goes down to the kitchen to find everyone munching on cereal.

Not a single hair is out of place on her head, and she moves towards the coffee pot while four sets of eyes trail after her. "Good morning," she says to no one in particular, though her gaze lands on her son.

Henry pokes his spoon into the center of his bowl and pointedly ignores her.

Mallory's searching her face for any sign of tension or stress, but Regina's perfect mask is back in place.

"I have to get to work," Mallory huffs. "I'll ring you later, and you better pick up." She walks over to give Regina peck on the cheek, and then says her goodbyes to Henry, Marian and Emma.

"I should probably get to work too," Marian says with hesitation. "Will you be coming to the office today?"

"I'm actually planning to take a few weeks vacation," Regina announces, much to her friend's surprise. "I have some matters I need to take care of before I'll be ready to return to work, but I finished that proposal we were working on. I'll fax it over to you later this morning."

Marian gapes at her, and rests a hand on Henry's back. "Is all of this a ploy to get me to stop worrying about you?" she bluntly asks.

Henry scoots off his seat and races to get his school bag. Regina waits until her son is out of earshot before turning to Marian. "I'm fine. It's just a little hangover," she mutters weakly.

"Why don't you let me help you out with Henry this week?" Marian offers, unconvinced by Regina's brave façade. "I'll drop him off and pick him up today."

Emma's hunching over a bowl of half-eaten wheat cereal, but she perks up as she listens to the conversation.

Regina looks over Marian's shoulder at Emma and then nods. "I would appreciate that."

She trusts Marian to take care of her son, even though she worries about being away from him.

Before Henry leaves for school, he drags her into the living room and loops his arms tightly around her waist. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean what I said. I know you're just scared."

Regina melts into Henry's hug, and for a moment rests her chin on top of his head. "It's alright, Henry," she whispers. "I was angry with Emma—not with you—and the best way to express anger is by having a conversation with the person who has upset you. I shouldn't have yelled at anyone."

Emma appears in the doorway behind them, but steps back when she realizes they're talking.

Henry bends to pick up his school bag and then squints thoughtfully. "Are you going to be okay?" he asks. "You keep telling everyone you're fine, but I don't think you really are." He rummages in his backpack and removes a favorite comic book, which he hands over to her. "Just remember – the bad guys always lose. It might seem like they're winning now because you're hurt, but they never win in the end."

Regina recognizes that Henry's perspectives of good and evil are flawed; she knows it won't be that simple, but she clutches the magazine anyway and reassures her son. "I feel much better, sweetheart," she murmurs, smoothing out his stubborn hair as she swallows a lump in her throat. "And the bad guys can't hurt anyone now. They're gone." It's a partial truth, but she doesn't want her son to think they might still be in danger, even if that is the case. He doesn't need that burden. "Marian's going to take you to school today and she'll pick you up this afternoon. You'll go to her house for the evening, okay? And Emma's friends will stay right outside and keep you safe until I come get you, just in case there are any new bad guys lurking about—"

Henry narrows his eyes, and tips his head to the side questioningly. "Why?" he asks.

"I'm going to see Dr. Hopper," Regina impulsively lies. Henry's been to Dr. Hopper in the past, and he encourages her to go often enough. She has no intentions of making an appointment with the psychologist, but she'd rather that Henry believe that she's doing something he'd consider productive.

Much to her relief, the trick works, and Henry throws his school bag over his shoulder. "Okay," he says, and heads over to the door with Marian.

"Someone's a good liar," Emma remarks, with her thumbs stuck into her jeans' pockets. "That'll be useful when we use you as bait."

Regina swings back towards Emma and agitatedly flicks the hair from her face. "So you're going to let me help?" she asks.

"I pretty much thought we had an unspoken agreement, yeah," Emma shrugs, and goes to gather her belongings. "So, we should probably get you into some self-defense classes, and I'll take you to the shooting range…"

"Ms. Swan, I established a non-profit for women escaping domestic violence," Regina testily snaps. She might not possess the same physical strength as Emma, but she's not entirely helpless, in spite of how it seems. "Do you honestly think I've never taken a self-defense course?"

Perhaps it's never crossed the agent's mind that Regina fought back against her attackers.

"If this is about what happened, then I shouldn't have to tell you of all people that I was outnumbered and taken off guard," Regina states, because of the consoling look Emma gives her. "I tried to defend myself."

"Hey, that's not what I was getting at," Emma protests, and inhales deeply as if she has a lot to say on the matter. "I didn't assume anything. I just figured it couldn't hurt to take some extra precautions, right?"

Regina balls her fists at her sides, and stiffly shakes her head. "Where to first, then?" she asks.

"The diner," Emma breathes. "That oat cereal you feed the kid looks like the stuff they give the animals at petting zoos."

"It's high in fiber, Ms. Swan," Regina sniffs, but grabs her jacket and slips her arms into it. "I've seen what you eat for breakfast. You eat a small petting zoo – eggs, ham, sausage. You should watch your cholesterol."

They exit the house together and climb into a taxi, because they left Emma's vehicle in town last night.

Their first order of business is to pick up Emma's car, and then they stop at an old-fashioned diner.

Emma chooses a booth in the corner, where they can watch everyone come and go. There are small jukeboxes on each table, and everything is made of gleaming metal or leather.

"Well so far this is productive," Regina sarcastically grumbles, as she flips through a menu with heart attack foods.

Emma's distracted by the customers at the counter, but splits her focus to glance back at Regina. "I didn't just come here for the breakfast," she explains quietly, and inconspicuously sweeps her gaze to the right.

There's a man in a tweed cap sitting on a stool beside another man in dark leather, and nothing is out of place about them, except Regina instantly recognizes them both.

"Regina," Emma mutters, but Regina doesn't react—she just continues to stare.

"So you've managed to dig up every one of my little secrets, have you?" Regina exhales, and she's all ready to get up and confront the man in the cap, but she stays seated and stirs her coffee instead.

"What do you mean?" Emma asks in genuine confusion, and she's nodding towards the other man—the one in black leather, who reaches for his bill just in time to give Regina a glimpse of his face. "I'm keeping tabs on Booth. He's been given an assignment, but he's not sharing any of the details. Do you know the guy he's talking to?"

"Know him?" Regina spares a dark glance at Emma and sips her coffee. "I ruined his life," she softly hisses, with more animosity than she intended. "We - worked together, briefly, on a domestic violence case. Because of the way he mishandled the processing of evidence, the perpetrator got off with a slap on his wrist, and my client went home to suffer at the hands of her abuser."

Emma raises her eyebrows curiously, as if she senses there's much more to the story. "He's a cop?" she wonders aloud, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as she re-assesses him.

"Was a cop," Regina curtly emphasizes, and she doesn't have to tell Emma that she destroyed his career; it's written all over her glowering face. "His name is Graham Humbert. Last I heard, he'd moved up north to enjoy his early retirement."

"So, he has a possible motive for harming you," Emma concludes, although it's clear by the once-over she gives Graham that she doubts his involvement in Regina's attack.

"He may hate my guts, but no, I don't think he was in any way responsible for what occurred," Regina grumbles. If the FBI can do no better than investigating all of these dead ends, she lacks confidence in their ability to ever bring a resolution what happened in that warehouse.

Their waitress drops two plates on the table without bothering to ask if they need anything else. There's a palpable tension between Regina and Emma, and Regina understands the waitress' eagerness to escape.

"I'm sure you've dealt with incompetent cops in the past," Emma mutters, as she leans forward to grab the salt and dumps it liberally over her eggs. "Why'd you get him fired? Was it personal?"

"When I was a practicing lawyer, I took all of my cases very seriously," Regina answers, side-stepping the actual question. She's in no mood to explain her vendetta against Graham and it irritates her that Emma is perceptive enough to figure out that there must be another reason for her hatred of him.

"It's complicated," Regina argues. "I've known him since I was in college. We were friends. All the more reason I couldn't turn a blind eye to his mistakes. It was my reputation on the line, too."

Emma squints dubiously, but continues poking at the eggs on her plate. "Okay," she frowns, and thankfully doesn't press for more information.

"It seems like you're wasting a lot of resources by investigating me," Regina softly intones.

"You seem like someone who's got a lot to hide," Emma admits with a shrug. "You might think it's worth it to protect your secrets, but it all comes out in the end. If there's anything you've been holding back about this, Regina, you can tell me. I'm not going to put it all down in an official report."

Regina's frustrated to the point of tears, but her eyes barely water at Emma's indirect accusations. She pushes herself up from their table, gathers her coat and rushes out the door before Emma can even put down her fork.

Emma's car is at the back of the parking lot, but Regina doesn't move towards it. Being stranded is the last thing she needs, but she figures she'll call a cab. Just as she's about to pull out her cell phone, Emma comes running up behind her.

"Wait," Emma requests, gently grasping her arm. "Let's just go for a ride, blow off some steam, and then maybe we can go over the details of what happened again. I just can't help but think I'm overlooking something important. It's weird, you know? The way they interrogated you and left—it doesn't add up. I want to get answers for you. To do that, we have to understand why you were targeted in the first place. Right now we have nothing. Our analysts are starting to assume that these guys thought you were someone else. But I don't believe that. I know I don't exactly take the most orthodox approach to my job…but this investigation has been my whole life for years, and – and – "

Emma stutters as Regina stalks away, but they both move towards the car. Regina opens the door, gets in, and buckles up her seatbelt, and Emma looks visibly relieved.

It's not until they're on the highway that Regina acknowledges she's heard Emma by clearing her constricting throat. "Henry had soccer practice after school," she begins to explain. "Normally I pick him up and drop him off at home, but that afternoon was a little different. I was at one of our women's shelters in Dorchester, and just as I was about to leave for the day, two volunteers approached me for advice. I got caught up in conversation and didn't realize the time. I had to ask Marian to help out with Henry. It's becoming a pattern lately." She shakes her head and fidgets with her hands, unclenching and clenching her fingers.

"When I went out to my car, a man tried to get my attention. That isn't such an unusual occurrence. Sometimes abusive partners, husbands or boyfriends will come looking for someone, and we'll have to turn them away. I've been harassed in the past. There's a protocol we generally follow, but I just sensed this man was different. He didn't come alone, and I could tell he was looking at my license plate number. I tried to run, but it had rained all evening, and I slipped. I dropped my keys and my purse—"

It takes all of Regina's will power to concentrate on recalling the events leading up to her capture. She remembers the impact of her knees against the pavement, and how the gravel ripped through her stockings.

"Everything else happened exactly as I stated," she tiredly chokes out. "They put me into a truck, took me to the warehouse by the waterfront, and questioned me for well… who knows how long? First they showed me pictures of people I couldn't identify. Then they asked me about a special project. They wanted me to name the director, and explain the scope of the work. There was a box filled with files – but all of the documents were coded. They were hoping to find out more about the coding system. After a while, they grew frustrated and decided that interrogating me was futile. From that point on, I became nothing but a diversion to them. Three of the men left, but the other two…" Her eyes burn with traces of tears, and she throws her head back as if to laugh at her own misery, but no sound comes from her throat and she's forced to look away from Emma.

Emma solemnly grips the steering wheel until her knuckles go white with tension. "Yeah," she mutters, pale and distressed. She manages to loosen her fingers, and slides a hand onto Regina's shoulder.

Regina can't help the way her body jerks, or how her thoughts scatter. She suddenly has no faith in Emma Swan, and this whole plan to work together strikes her as stupid. It would be easy to lash out again, but she can't seem to catch her breath or steady herself. The air sticks in her windpipe, and she's only vaguely aware that Emma's pulling to the side of the road.

"You're hyperventilating," Emma explains, and they sit in silence for a long time while Regina uselessly tries to fill her lungs.

Emma reaches across Regina's lap to put the seat back, and then gets onto the road again. "When I was a kid, I had a lot of panic attacks," she mutters gruffly. "Gotta let your chest expand."

Regina wheezes, and deflects by asking, "Panic attacks?" She's had them before, but she wants to know why Emma appears to be an expert on them.

"Grew up in the foster system," Emma says nonchalantly, as she peers in the rearview mirror. "Every day was a guessing game."

Regina has no idea what Emma means by that, but she's intrigued enough to murmur, "In what respect?"

"I lived with an old religious lady who had a lot of cats and sometimes forgot to buy food," Emma elaborates, and squeezes the wheel again. "After her, there was a couple with a bunch of their own kids. I moved in when I was nine, when most of their girls were in high school. They hung out with a bad crowd, and whenever they got caught doing something wrong, they made me take the blame. Some of my other foster families were nice enough, but then my foster parents would do something - like take their actual kids out for the day. I'd have to stay home with a babysitter. It made me feel like I didn't belong. I got into trouble on a regular basis, and one of my foster guardians told me that if I kept it up, I'd end up without a home. So I was always afraid that would happen. Then one day it did."

Regina's not sure why Emma's being so forthcoming, but she's a bit more relaxed and listening attentively. "I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely.

"I'm not," Emma flatly replies, and glances swiftly in her direction. "How are you feeling?"

Regina cycles through her emotions: anger and nervousness are all layered over hurt, fear and uncertainty. She's still reluctant to fully place her trust in Emma, but being in the agent's presence calms her. There's no denying that Emma's story has created a new soft spot in her defenses, either. "This is helping," she sighs. "Thank you."

It begins to pour as they turn off the main highway, heading northwest. Thick raindrops splatter on the roof in a soothing rhythm.

"We're here," Emma announces, but here is apparently the middle of nowhere. There's a huge barn at the end of the road, surrounded by tangled weeds and overgrown bushes.

"This place looks derelict," Regina remarks, and wonders how Emma ever came to find it. "When you said we were going to practice self-defense, I figured you'd take me to a gym."

"This is better," Emma argues as her tires run over the knee-high grass.

"It's certainly more realistic," Regina sniffs, un-amused. "We might actually get attacked out here, and that building looks like it's infested with rats."

Emma rolls her eyes and gets out of the car, leaving Regina to make up her mind whether or not to follow.

"I've been coming here for years," Emma claims, as she leads Regina towards the barn door. "I've always wanted to find out who owns the place, so I could buy it, and really fix it up."

"We're trespassing?" Regina shrilly asks, but it's raining too heavily to protest going inside.

For the second time in the last forty-eight hours, she learns that looks can be deceiving: only this time, the interior of the barn is much nicer than its exterior.

"I break a lot of laws," Emma laughs, moving around some punching bags that she's hung from the high rafters. "That's why I went into law enforcement. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." She wrings out her damp hair and then peels off her coat. "So, put up your fists and show me what you've got."

"As many times as I've been tempted to hit you, I'd rather not," Regina exhales, and gestures down at her suit. "I left my change of clothes in the car, and it's not like there's a locker room here."

"I'll grab your clothes and you can change in the corner," Emma offers, and hurries back out into the rain. She's not gone long enough for Regina to come up with an excuse.

Regina wordlessly accepts the bag with her gym clothes, and steps into one of the darker corners to change. There are windows in the roof that do a poor job of filtering in the grey light from outside. Emma stands by the door to give her some privacy, but Regina still feels self-conscious as she removes her clothing. Her skin sprouts goose bumps and her body shakes, much to her dismay. It takes her much longer to dress herself because of it.

"I'm ready," Regina finally announces, and spins towards a weighted bag.

"If you want to warm up by punching the bag, then be my guest," Emma shrugs. "But I'm your opponent."

Regina stops short of slamming her fist into the bag, and whips around to raise her eyebrows at Emma.

After a long moment of hesitation, Emma ambushes her. She secures both of Regina's arms, and gets the smaller woman down on the floor without much effort.

Emma's upper body strength outmatches Regina's, and all the smaller woman can do is thrash.

She's more conditioned to this kind of treatment than she'd like Emma to know—but when she meets Emma's eyes, she can tell the agent's stunned by her level of calm.

Emma has her pinned, and Regina's angry but not about to crumble.

"Apart from a gasp and a flinch, you hardly reacted," Emma gasps out.

"Oh, you expected more? Why are you trying to terrorize me?" Regina asks venomously, and then gives Emma a rough shove to retaliate.

Emma backs off and staggers over to a battered folding chair. "It would be a huge liability to let you help with the investigation if you couldn't handle that," she hastily discloses. "I figured you'd scream, and panic–-but you didn't. You just seemed prepared for anything."

They stare at each other, and Regina witnesses the thoughts clicking into place for Emma.

"There's only two types of people I've met who respond like that when faced with potential harm," Emma explains, flaring her nostrils as she speaks rapidly. "Agents who have been trained to endure it, and foster kids who have accepted it as a fact of life."

Regina glowers at the floorboards, and then flicks her eyes to Emma. "Are we going to practice, or not?" she growls.

It's the only confirmation of Emma's assumptions that she's willing to give. She thinks Emma might be blunt and ask her outright about past incidences of abuse. For now, Emma just shuffles forward, holds out her hand and helps Regina onto her feet. "You're going to have to make up for your lack of strength with speed," Emma mutters. "I'll show you the best ways to dodge and block."

They go through a few simple exercises about anticipating the type of attack before Emma's cell rings.

It's DuBois on the line, and he criticizes Emma loudly enough for Regina to hear him, too. "Now I know you didn't plant a bug on a fellow agent," he rumbles. "Did you, Swan? Booth saw you at the diner this morning. That can't be a coincidence, can it?"

Emma swears she has no idea what DuBois is raving about. "Did he find a bug?" she asks. "If Booth's so sure I bugged him, then he should have evidence."

DuBois sighs at her and hangs up, unwilling to dispute the matter further. Regina figures they'll address it again at a later date, along with all of the other complaints against Emma.

Emma tosses her phone to the side, and starts wrapping up her hands with boxing tape. "Let's try keep our partnership a secret for now," she suggests. "I can tell you don't want your friends or Henry finding out. And if I propose our plan to my boss, he's going to shut me down on principle. As it is, he's pissed that you're back in Boston, and if it wasn't for the fact that the guys who broke my cover are now dead, I'd be kicked off the job."

"You're not going to get authorization for this? And to think I was just starting to gain confidence in you," Regina playfully grouses, but she's perfectly aware of how their plan will be perceived. She's still sporting days' old injuries, and Emma's unconventional practices have been called both insane and brilliant within Regina's range of hearing. All of the agents that work with Emma seem to respect her, though, and that has to count for something. "So did you plant a bug on your colleague?"

"On Booth?" Emma snorts. "No, he's just really sloppy. He's lucky I'm on his side." She swipes at Regina, and looks moderately impressed when Regina avoids her. "You're already getting quicker on your feet. Now you just have to stop wearing all of those impractical heels."

"I'll have you know that I could take someone's eye out with my Louboutins," Regina grumbles. She's about to hit the bag in front of her when Emma snags her by the wrist and pulls her close.

They stand like that until Emma's face goes red, and Regina realizes she should be trying to break loose. She puts all of her weight into it, but Emma's arm is secure at her waist.

It's awkward when they finally separate and gravitate back together; it's magnetism when their eyes meet intensely and fixate.

They go through more drills, which require Regina to defend herself or make fast judgment calls. The training session is demanding and leaves Regina feeling exerted. She's breathing heavy and there's sweat on her forehead.

"Hey, let's take five," Emma insists, and drags the foldout chair over to Regina. "Don't want to overdo it."

Regina sits gratefully, and hunches over without worrying what Emma might think of her posture. "So how did you find this place?" she asks.

"Got stranded out here," Emma shrugs, and then glances around fondly at the small improvements she must have made to the abandoned barn. "Flat tire. I was a new recruit at the time. Didn't have much money, or even a cell phone, so I spent the night. Kept coming back afterwards."

Regina rubs at a sore spot on her shoulder. She's on the verge of asking to wrap it up for the day when Emma announces they're done.

"We should head back before we hit lunchtime traffic," Emma simply says, and begins packing up her gear.

Their session has lasted no longer than an hour, and Regina recognizes it's her fault they're stopping. Her healing process will be slow, and Emma's sensitive to that, but that doesn't mean Regina's anymore patient with herself. She grudgingly grabs her belongings and gets back into Emma's car.

"I suppose I don't need Marian's help with Henry this afternoon," Regina mutters.

"It's probably not my place to say anything, but earlier when you were telling your kid you'd be seeing Dr. Hopper, I thought that might be a good idea," Emma breathes, licking her lips in worry.

"How do you know that Dr. Hopper is my shrink?" Regina softly growls, although the question doesn't require an answer.

Emma's investigation has allowed her to invade Regina's personal life. If it comes to it, Regina has no doubt that Emma will read all of Dr. Hopper's notes on her. The thought of that sends her into a rage. "Obviously it's your job to interview anyone who could be linked to what happened, but is it really necessary to violate every last bit of my privacy?"

"What are you talking about?" Emma scrunches her face in confusion, wincing at the way their conversation has dovetailed.

"I assume you don't care about doctor-patient confidentiality," Regina hisses. She's overreacting, and a part of her knows that it would be best just to keep her mouth shut, but she's never been good at doing what's best. "Are you going to ask Dr. Hopper to see my files?"

"No," Emma stresses, "I just thought it would be a good idea to talk to someone about the incident. Last night you didn't sleep well. That seems to be a regular occurrence, and you've had all of these outbursts-" Her eyes widen, and she flashes a quick glance in Regina's direction, as if she's finally realizing that offering her unsolicited advice is a big mistake.

Regina stares unseeingly through the window and says nothing, but the silence seems to bother Emma more than another outburst.

They're both preoccupied enough that they don't take notice of the car that's trailing after them. It's not until they reach an intersection outside of Regina's neighborhood that Emma spots the car.

Emma makes a wrong turn, which earns a questioning look from Regina. "Do you need directions?" Regina asks snappishly.

Emma's gazing into the rearview mirror at a black SUV and Regina spins around to watch it speed up and make the light.

"We're being followed," Emma explains, and zigzags around another car to put some distance between them and their pursuer.

The early afternoon traffic is just heavy enough to get the SUV off their tail, but the driver's persistence keeps him coming no matter how many obstacles they put in his way.

"So do you have any experience with firearms, yes or no?" Emma asks, and unlocks a safe compartment in the center console that Regina failed to notice earlier. The console stores a pair of glocks, and a gun that surely doesn't meet the FBI's tight regulations.

"My father had a collection of rifles when I was growing up," Regina states noncommittally, and Emma rolls her eyes as she steers with one hand and reaches for her handguns with the other.

The SUV suddenly veers and takes a turn, disappearing down a side street.

"He's trying to catch us at the next light," Emma huffs and begins rolling down her window. "That's a short cut."

"What are you going to do?" Regina rasps in concern, and presses her back into her seat. She's useless in this situation, and that both frustrates and panics her.

Emma takes aim with her gun as the SUV barrels onto the main road again and swerves in front of them. Her finger rests over the trigger, and yet Emma falters when she gets a glimpse of the driver and passenger. Rob's face conveys his fury, though Jones seems to be laughing his ass off.

"You've been ignoring all of my calls," Rob growls as he approaches, turning a shade of bright red that makes him look sunburned. "When were you planning to check in with me? The last 24 hours have been a nightmare."

"Sorry," Emma replies, though she doesn't seem sorry at all. "I figured you'd still be busy with all of that paperwork I left you. Besides, weren't you off duty for the last 24 hours?"

"Yes, which is why you were supposed to check in with Jones," Rob explains far too patiently, as if he's speaking to a four-year-old instead of a grown adult. Regina assumes he's a parent, because his anger passes quickly into relief. "Emma, we're all friends—and I worry about you."

Jones, on the other hand, appears unconcerned with Emma's carelessness.

Emma blinks rapidly, more affected by the sunlight over Rob's head than by his lecture. She stashes her guns back in the center console. "I talked to DuBois. And I would have called you, but there were these two assholes who were tailgating me. I can't hold a phone and my gun in one hand. I mean, I probably could if I practiced enough, but I might have pulled the trigger and then Jones would need a second prosthetic."

Tilting her head indecisively, Emma gestures for Rob to step away from her car. "We'll meet you back at Regina's place."

Stomping her foot on the gas, Emma zips down the street and drives around the block to Regina's house.

"Why did you do that?" Regina asks, at the risk of sounding accusatory. "Granted, the guys are idiots for following you so closely, but they obviously care about your well-being. Why do you have to act that way?"

"This coming from a woman who's like that with everyone," Emma cleverly points out, as she parks on the side of the road in front of Regina's home.

"I know why I do it," Regina grunts testily, and then shakes her head. "Why do you?"

Emma shrugs evasively, and unbuckles her seatbelt. "Come up with any explanation that makes sense to you and we'll go with that," she states, unwilling to cooperate for this little exercise in self-reflection. "I'm an orphan. I'm jaded because of my job. Those are my personal favorites. Take your pick."

They slip into uneasy silence, and then go inside, where they're joined by Rob and Jones. Regina decides to serve them coffee simply as an excuse to get away from the commotion.

Emma and Rob bicker back and forth, one-upping each other with ridiculous taunts.

In the kitchen, Regina grabs a silver tray and arranges her mugs on top of it, along with her famous apple tarts. She carries the platter into the living room, and observes as all three of the agents stuff their faces.

"Eesh is Dull-ish-shush," Emma moans out between bites.

"So, have you been trying to track down anyone on DuBois' list of leads, or have you just been stalking me today?" Emma asks Jones as she wipes the crumbs from her jeans.

"I figured it was a priority to make sure you were still alive," Jones unenthusiastically replies. "And we've been asked to halt all work until after this afternoon's meeting. Didn't you get the notification?"

Emma grabs her phone and flips through her messages, apparently finding none from DuBois or whoever could have authorized a meeting. "DuBois," she mumbles. "That sneaky bastard. He wasn't going to invite me?"

"I am certain it was an oversight," Rob murmurs. He cheerfully accepts second helpings of coffee and pastry, as if his professional duties are now the furthest thing from his mind.

Regina takes some time to study her guests. She begins with Emma, who sits sandwiched between the guys and whose rebellious blonde curls tumble in every direction. Emma stares back at Regina, oblivious to how starved she looks even though she's just eaten.

Regina forces herself to break eye contact, and focuses on Rob. His sandy blonde hair is mostly slicked back, but there's a part that defies grooming. He fidgets a bit as if there's music in his head, or as if he's having a conversation with himself.

Regina wonders how long Rob and Emma have known each other.

"You have a nice home," Jones remarks, drawing Regina's attention last. "Though it is rather big for just you and your boy." He has the habit of making himself seem disinterested, but he appears mildly intrigued by the house. "You know, one thing we've yet to turn up is any record of the boy's father."

"That's because he doesn't have one," Regina softly states, and re-fills her cup with coffee. "I've been raising him on my own since the day he was born." She won't talk about Henry, not after she's already been forced to disclose so much for the good of the investigation. All of her personal life has been laid bare in ways she never could have imagined.

"What I mean to say is that we haven't been able to find information on a second parent, adoption, or sperm donor," Jones continues, proving to be more aggressive and persistent than Emma. "But that information must exist, unless you magically brought him into this world without any assistance."

"Hey, lay off for now," Emma warns, and gives Jones a light slap to the stomach. "We need to get going."

Regina appreciates Emma's intervention, though it's easy to see that they're all curious. She's thankful that they all have a meeting to attend soon, even after it hits her that she'll be alone—or as alone as she can be with constant protection. There's always a van parked out front.

This is an unusual circumstance for everyone involved, but she doubts she'll have endure much more probing. She's only glad she's gotten to this point without hearing from her mother, though she's secretly been hoping to receive a call from her father. It's bothersome that she hasn't heard from him; he was the type of man who scooped her up when she so much as scraped a knee. She wonders how much her family knows, and who has been assigned to talk to them.

She's slipped off into a distracted silence, but Emma pulls her out of it with an awkward touch. "You going to be alright?" Emma asks.

"Yes," Regina rasps automatically.

The other agents are already getting up, and Rob gives Regina a soft smile as he says, "Thanks for the snack. We'll see ourselves to the door."

Jones stares open-mouthed for a moment, and then nods along with Rob.

Emma's anxious to go, if her frequent glances at her colleagues are any indication. "I'll drop by later," she promises.

Then all at once, Regina's left sitting on her couch with a bunch of empty dishes strewn across her coffee table.


	6. Chapter 6

To the guest who always reviews: thank you.

* * *

Some abbreviations used for the sake of realism in this chapter:

ATF = Bureau of Alcohol, Firearms and Explosives. The ATF tries to prevent the sale of illegal weapons, and is sometimes seen to be in competition with the FBI.

DEA = Drug Enforcement Administration. The DEA tries to stop the smuggling of drugs.

The FBI works closely with both organizations.

* * *

DuBois holds the meeting in a room with closed shutters, where they can all assemble in rows and follow along with the information he pulls up on a large screen.

Emma's the last one through the door. Unlike the rest of the respectable agents that wear suits, she's dressed in jeans and her conspicuous red jacket. She pushes through the group of her colleagues, but quickly realizes there's no seat for her.

The regional Chief of Security, "Blue" Rosamond Bradford—or as they like to call her, "Big Blue" — has taken a spot in the front and center. She already seems riled up, although no one has spoken to her and DuBois' presentation hasn't even started.

Intelligence analyst Eugenia Lucas waves Emma over and points to a vacant chair she'd overlooked. "Always making a grand entrance," she chuckles. "Aren't you, Swan? It's just as well that you ended up sitting next to me. Ruby tells me you finally have a lady friend. Said you brought the girl around to the bar."

Out of everyone she works with, Eugenia knows her best. Eugenia's never once judged her, and the older woman is always insisting that Emma call her "Granny." It's because of Eugenia that Emma hangs out at the little bar where the analyst's actual granddaughter works.

Emma blushes and clears her throat to explain. "She's not exactly my 'lady' friend," she mutters, but then DuBois approaches his podium and everyone falls silent in the conference room.

"Let's begin by reviewing what we know," DuBois states, and clicks a button on the remote he's been clutching.

Pictures appear on the screen of the men Emma tracked down to the warehouse. Nicholas Berkeley and Charles Rivers look like a couple of average guys, and as far as Emma's concerned, they were average criminals while alive.

It's the other men in the pictures that interest her—James Spencer and Gregory Mendell. Spencer was a good-looking man, with a strong jaw and perfect teeth. Mendell somehow seems skittish and on edge in his photo. Emma's throat tightens as she thinks of Regina, and what these men did to her.

"First off we have Nicholas Berkeley and Charles Rivers," DuBois recaps. "On the books, Berkeley and Rivers were contractors. They were brought into this whole operation recently. We interviewed some of their customers. It's obvious these men needed to keep their day jobs. James Spencer initiated contact with them only a few months ago. Their role involved moving inventory—primarily drugs. Among the four, Spencer was clearly the boss, and he had a knack for covering up his crimes. Not even so much as a parking ticket on this guy." He clicks to progress to the next slide, bringing up an image of an aging man with white hair and a sneer on his face. "James Spencer was also the son of the billionaire entrepreneur Albert Spencer. So far, Albert has been cooperating with our agents. The guy seems to be clean, but of course we'll keep our investigations of James Spencer's family open-"

DuBois paces the floor and clicks again, back onto the images of the four men. "Last we have Gregory Mendell. He grew up in Southie. He lived with his grandmother until she passed away, and then he became a ward of the state. He had a history of alcoholism, drug abuse and documented mental illness. And he had a record." He flips to another slide with Mendell's mug shot. "Before hooking up with Spencer, Mendell was out there selling coke and heroin to teenagers. Unfortunately the BPD couldn't nail him for that. Instead, he was brought in on charges of theft and given a one-year sentence, which he served from 09 until 2010. Both Mendell and Spencer interrogated and tortured our victim, Regina Mills—"

Big Blue is listening attentively to DuBois when her phone rings, and she's forced to step out.

Blue's hasty exit distracts everyone except for Emma. She's staring at the screen, unaware that her breathing has gone shallow. Her mind skips back to her conversation with Regina, and the part where Regina stated that there were two men who harmed her—and three more who were present during her interrogation.

"That's not right," Emma thoughtlessly states out loud. "I spoke to our victim earlier today. We went over the events again, and she told me that after three of the guys left, there were two that stayed behind."

There should be five men in total, but instead there's only four on the screen. It's simple math, unless Regina misreported the numbers. She'd trust anyone's ability to count before she'd trust any of her colleagues to pay strict attention when taking a formal statement. If she glances left or right, there are at least five people in this room that are texting. Emma suspects someone really screwed up. If she has her pick, she'd like it to be Jones, or any of the guys that are playing candy crush on their cell phones right now.

"Are you sure, Swan?" DuBois asks, but it's more for the benefit of everyone else in the room than because he needs her reassurance. "If that's the case, we'd better get word out to Marco and Michael. They're watching the victim's residence. We've got additional teams at her place of work, and her son's school. Contact them immediately."

A few of her colleagues are about to make the calls when Big Blue breezes back into the room and takes note of the topic of conversation.

"We've already brought in the fifth perpetrator," Blue states. Her tight-lipped frown shows her displeasure with everyone's incompetence. "Or, rather, the ATF brought him in. I've been on and off the phone with their chief investigator for days. They picked up our trash last week." She walks to the front of the room, and snatches the remote from DuBois' hand.

"The fifth perp's name is Jefferson," Blue explains. "He had a crate of weapons that match with the ones we found in the abandoned warehouse. He was trying to sell them. The ATF has already put him through several interviews. They've been able to confirm Agent Swan's suspicions. These smaller crime rings we've been dismantling have direct ties with the terrorist network, ORACLE – the organization that assassinated more than a dozen of our best agents during Operation Cobra."

Blue spares Emma a fleeting glance, and then addresses the rest of the room. "Jefferson is part of a group of defectors, dealing in drugs and weaponry. He credits ORACLE with creating a powerful bio-weapon, and claims his own organization recently acquired it. The good news is that we've discovered they don't know how to use it. The technology is too advanced. The bad news is that this is a now federal emergency, because it's only a matter of time before they figure it out. We can expect to deal not only with the ATF and DEA on this, but other government agencies as well. Be prepared to cross your T's and dot your I's. If I'm forced to do it for you, I'll give you two T's and one I—as in the word retirement."

"A bio-weapon?" DuBois repeats, mystified by this latest revelation. "Swan, any thoughts on this?"

Emma frowns and crosses her arms, unaware that she's hunching in her seat. She'd retreat if she could, but for now all she can do is face forward and ignore her fellow agents. It'd be easier if they weren't staring at her as if all of this is her fault.

In the last weeks, she's been dedicating far too much time to protecting Regina, and not doing enough legwork of her own. She should regret getting closer to Regina, but there's a part of her that just wants to get up and leave the meeting. With so many new uncertainties surrounding this case, her impulse is to take care of Regina first.

"Let's get Mills and her kid to a safe house for the time being," Emma suggests, automatically answering and then hesitating for a moment to come up with a plan of action. "I think it's pretty clear why Spencer was interrogating her. He must have believed that Mills had some special knowledge of how to make the weapon work. That means his organization might still be operating under the assumption that Mills has value to them. We still have to work out how she's connected to this mess. In the meantime, while we continue to investigate, I say we make a deal with Jefferson. If he rats on ORACLE and his own organization, he goes free. Even if he doesn't, I say we let him go and follow him."

"You're forgetting one little detail," Jones pipes in, sounding agitated. "We don't have authority to let Jefferson go."

"We don't have many other options," Emma confidently argues. "We should convince everyone to get on board with our plan. We keep wiping out the smaller operations that support ORACLE, but we need to take drastic measures if we want to bring a stop to their activities altogether. It's been nearly two years since our last major breakthrough. We've been out there doing all that we can and we have nothing to show for it."

"Let's get back out there," DuBois commandingly interrupts, although Emma can discern his worry. "No one takes a break until we uncover something. In the meantime, let's keep conversations open with the ATF. We're going to have to cooperate to get things done."

The meeting is quick to adjourn after Blue receives another phone call, and DuBois gives the word. Emma's about to rush off, but Granny halts her with a glance and a raised, bushy eyebrow.

"I've been working on the files you collected from that warehouse," Granny sniffs. "It seems like some of them have gone missing, but I have a few complete documents. They look like medical records. I won't conclusively say that's what they are, but it's a fair bet."

Emma recalls how she stuffed a couple of files into her shirt, and immediately regrets her decision. "I might be able to get you the rest of those records," she mutters. "Will you let me know if you figure them out?"

"Of course," Granny chuckles. "But only if you come to my retirement party. It's next week, and you haven't RSVP'd. Invite your new lady friend."

"Sure," Emma agrees. "I'll be there." She should be worried about fulfilling her promise, especially because it includes a lady friend she doesn't have, but Emma has stopped stressing over events that are more than a few days in the future. All of her obligations will be meaningless if she doesn't make it through the current moment.

* * *

It's raining again when Emma emerges from the office building. DuBois wants her to follow Albert Spencer and run surveillance on the businesses the Spencer family owns. In the past, Emma might have been eager to return to a more active role. Now she can only think of Regina, and how vulnerable the woman must feel. Regina and Henry will be moved to a safe house tonight. It's just a temporary precaution, and just until Emma's division has more answers, but it's still another interruption to Regina and Henry's life.

Emma impulsively detours, and she's back at Regina's place just in time for the rain to clear. She knocks on the front door out of courtesy, though agents Marco Gioseppo and Michael Tillman are already inside. Both Gioseppo and Tillman are waiting in the foyer, shuffling their feet awkwardly and keeping each other entertained. It seems like it's been a tense night, and they're trying to reassure one another.

Gioseppo lets her in, and Emma goes straight upstairs to Regina's bedroom. The door is open, and Emma stupidly forgets to knock.

Regina startles easily and clutches the edge of the dresser, all while glaring over her shoulder at Emma. "What are you doing here?" she demands. "I was told you were re-assigned."

"You were told right," Emma admits, slipping her thumbs through her belt loops. "I'm still working the case. I've just been asked to keep an eye on someone."

Regina gives her an expectant look, and then folds a few pairs of black pants, which she puts into her already overflowing suitcase. She must be worried about how long the investigation will drag on, because she's packed up practically her whole wardrobe.

"Albert Spencer," Emma explains, as she helps Regina close the suitcase.

"Spencer?" Regina echoes, with a furrowed brow and her mouth agape.

"Do you know him?" Emma asks, but it's unnecessary.

Regina's body language has completely altered, and her eyes are unfocused. "Yes," she finally mumbles. "I know him."

"We could use that to our advantage," Emma breathes out after recognizing that Regina's starting to drift. She doesn't want Regina involved with the investigation now, and not just because the stakes are suddenly higher. All it's taken to change her mind is a few hours spent gazing at the men who held Regina against her will.

"You're right," Regina rapidly agrees. "I should speak with him."

Emma does a double take, and adrenaline pumps fast through veins. "That isn't what I meant," she clarifies. "I just thought you'd be able to give me the low-down."

"I can do better than that," Regina reasons, and broodingly braces her arms over her chest. "If our paths happen to cross, would there be any harm in speaking to him? You haven't mentioned how he's been linked back to the crime."

"Through his son, James," Emma discloses, and shifts uneasily from foot to foot. She's entrusted Regina with too much, and this could have negative consequences – not only for her career, but she also has no idea how this information will affect Regina's emotional state.

"I've never met his son," Regina states, and then notices the disquieted way Emma's watching her.

"You've met him," Emma replies.

Regina swallows and after a moment, gives a slow nod of understanding.

Emma gently touches Regina's arm, then winces at the inadequacy of that small, comforting gesture.

"You can put me on a wire," Regina offers, all the more adamantly. "Either way, I'm going to have a little chat with Mr. Spencer."

"If he's somehow responsible for what happened, then you're only making it easier on him," Emma tactlessly protests.

"And on me," Regina huskily rumbles. "Living like this isn't an option. Even a few more weeks of this would be unbearable. I want answers."

Emma has spent years of her life dealing with this investigation. She's been through debriefings, psychological evaluations, and painfully long meetings. For that reason, and probably several others that she's not willing to admit, she's sympathetic to Regina's need for immediate action. Their lives have become entangled and defined by a common enemy, and she realizes that maybe they're better off facing any threat together. "Let's check on Henry, and then we'll pay Spencer a visit."

* * *

Until they arrive at their destination, Regina gazes out into the darkness at the passing headlights. She's clutching the seat tight enough to worry that her nails will leave marks in the leather. For all her bravado, she's dreading her reunion with Albert Spencer. He's someone she hasn't seen since her young adulthood. In spite of that, she knows Spencer will remember her. How could he not? She has a reputation in his small, wealthy social circle, and those people don't ever forget.

"I'll be able to hear the whole conversation," Emma explains, with frequent glances at Regina.

Rob and Killian are also along for the ride, although Regina's not sure why. They're not following protocol, and Emma's already suggested that this vigilante maneuver could result in suspension.

The presence of the other two agents has made Regina reluctant to talk. She's fiddling with the belt on her coat and giving in to all kinds of nervous habits.

Emma parks outside of Spencer's office building, which is several storeys high with a lounge in the lobby. "He'll either be in his office, or downstairs in the lounge having dinner," Emma claims. "Around seven thirty, he usually leaves to get drinks at a club in the area, or goes home."

Emma switches seats with Rob, who has been sharing the bench seat in the van with Regina. "Come in the back and I'll get you wired up," Emma requests, and they both move into the central area of the vehicle.

Regina opens the back of her dress, and moves her hair out of the way. She takes a deep breath as Emma sinks down across from her, and hands her an earpiece.

They stare at each other while Emma cautiously attaches a clip to her skin, then a thin, transparent line that looks nothing like what Regina has seen on television.

It doesn't take long, but Emma's fingertips leave behind goose bumps, and a scarlet blush over Regina's chest and neck.

"I'm right here," Emma asserts. "If I think you're in trouble, I'm coming inside. If you want us to pull you out at any time, say the word and we're on it."

Regina repeats these reassurances in her head as she exits the van. Emma's selected a parking spot near construction scaffolding. The neighboring buildings are in various states of renovation. Spencer's building is the only one that's lit up and inviting.

The lounge downstairs must be popular, because it's busy for a weekday. The patrons wear suits and formal attire, though not all of them are conducting business. Several people cast curious glances in her direction, and she feels their attention linger as she addresses the maître d' with an alluring smile. "I'm meeting Claude Du Maurier for dinner," she lies.

Claude doesn't exist, but there's a reservation in his name, thanks to Rob. The maître d' seats her, and she orders a drink, then scans the room for Spencer. She's prepared to wait, but her eyes fall on him immediately.

He sits alone at a table large enough for six, and tucks into a steak dinner. His stern demeanor is ever intact, even as he sips his scotch.

She's not sure what to do next, or how to initiate a conversation from across the dining room. Then Spencer catches sight of her and lifts one hand to wave her over.

Regina rises and ventures to his table, extending a hand as she introduces herself. "Regina Mills."

"I recognized you," Spencer sneers, stabbing his fork into his meat. "You've been in the news for your charitable causes and pro bono work. I hope no one at my company is being slapped with a law suit."

Regina shakes her head, and folds herself into the chair across from him. Spencer must be very good at feigning ignorance, or he's not actually a conspirator in her capture and torture.

She can't believe he doesn't remember her from her childhood.

"What is it, then?" Spencer grunts, and scrutinizes her more closely. His eyes are drawn to the scar on her lip, and he realizes who she is after another long moment of staring.

"You just looked familiar," Regina vaguely explains, and she wonders if they can both acknowledge that they know each other without bringing up specific past events.

"Ah, yes." Spencer beckons the waiter to take his plate, then cuts the end off a thick cigar. "We've met. It's been a long time. A rather long time. How is your father?"

"He's well," Regina breathes, fighting the urge to wring her hands. "How is your wife?"

"Dead," Spencer spits, and pockets his cigar cutter. "Died nineteen years ago, actually. Left me with a boy I couldn't control. Nothing could straighten him out. He's dead now, too. Died this week."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Regina's voice is thick, almost wet with emotion, but a flicker of loathing shoots through her eyes. She feels no pity for James Spencer, or this hardened man who on a whim speaks so flippantly of his son's passing. It's not until she glances up again that she notices his sorrow, which he attempts to conceal with a stiff upper lip.

"Well. It seems like you've done alright for yourself, in spite of your insufferable mother, and the trouble that my dear friends made for you," Spencer remarks, shifting the focus of the conversation back to Regina. "You were a wild one, true, but you seem to be reformed now-"

She bristles at that, though she does nothing to betray how his comments have shaken her.

"I wish my son had as much gumption," Spencer ponderously continues. "I think when someone like yourself rises through adversity, they come out much stronger on the other side. I, for one, never had a single opportunity handed to me."

"Thank you," Regina mutters, though she wholeheartedly rejects his compliment.

Her young adulthood made her angry, and mournful, but it didn't make her a better person. It certainly didn't contribute to her successes later in life. In fact, she considers those early years as the strongest provocation to stumble and act against her own moral code.

"Why don't you join me for a few drinks tonight?" Spencer suddenly offers. "My company's a bit behind the times and I've been planning to hire a consultant to run all of our harassment seminars."

"I'd really love to," Regina replies. "But I have an early day tomorrow." She's also not sure that she can stand being in his presence any longer.

"Go with him," urges a soft voice in her ear. Emma states, "We don't have anything so far. Hang in there if you can."

"I suppose one drink wouldn't hurt," Regina rushes out, but Spencer stands up as if he means to leave anyway.

"Good," Spencer barks jubilantly. "I'm meeting a few friends at a club. My car's waiting outside."

Regina wishes she could still decline, especially because accepting his invitation now involves a change of scenery. She's ill at ease as she follows him out into the street, and climbs into his limousine.

It takes longer than she expects to arrive at the club, and she has no idea if Emma is trailing close behind them. Emma's been silent, and she can't very well speak to her while sitting next to Spencer—although she doubts he'd notice, since he's so absorbed in bragging about his company.

Regina nods along at the appropriate times, until the familiar street signs distract her.

Out of all the clubs in this part of the Boston area, Spencer has managed to choose one where she's certain to be recognized.

The place is decorated in all black and white chic furniture, and the lounges are draped in more furs than a rich widower. Carla Deville owns this club and many of the stores in the area.

Regina struts inside with her head held high, feeling confident until a strong whiff of gin greets her. She glances over at the bar, where Carla stares at her with hawkish interest.

Spencer is right beside Regina, and beckons her over to an area with couches, though she's not picking up on his cues. She's too focused on Carla. There's no way to avoid saying hello to her friend. She figures she'd better get it over with before they're interrupted.

"Well hello darling," Carla smirks as she approaches.

Much to Regina's surprise, Mallory's also close by, seated at the bar with a martini glass in hand.

"It's been a long time since you set foot here," Carla muses, pursing her lips and arching both eyebrows, as if insulted. "Who's your escort?"

Mallory's less tactful with her inquiries. "What are you doing with a man your father's age?" she demands, and Regina fixes her with a revolted look.

Leave it to Mallory to always assume the worst.

"Strictly talking business," Regina hisses, with a great deal of restraint. Her gut twists over her friends' impression of the situation. "Unfortunately he chose the venue. Do me a favor, and make yourselves scarce."

"I called you earlier," Mallory says, in a delicately reprimanding tone. "I also stopped by, but you weren't home. I'll be right over here, keeping an eye out."

Mallory quirks a brow at her, and follows Carla back to the bar.

Regina catches them staring as Spencer helps her out of the coat she's wearing. "Did you run into someone you know?" he frowns. "Here, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable."

In spite of the welcoming, dark leather lounges, Regina struggles to settle in, and ends up crossing her legs.

Spencer orders the drinks without asking her preferences. Then he proceeds with his discussion of business. "You know my company almost went bankrupt a few years ago, but I managed to negotiate a merger with Midas. Now we're one of the strongest hedge funds in Boston. When a man is at his lowest point, that is when he gets the chance to prove his self worth."

"Midas?" Regina asks, on the verge of an epiphany. "Someone I used to work for had dealings with that company."

"Yes, well, lucky man. Everything that Midas touches turns to gold," Spencer snickers, and stares meaningfully at someone who has just entered the club. "Speaking of Gold—that's the name of my lawyer. He introduced me to Midas."

Spencer nods in the direction of the person he's been gazing at, and Regina turns in time to see Mr. Gold in the flesh. He wears a disdainful frown, and a sharp suit with a pressed handkerchief in his breast pocket.

Gold knows Carla, and Spencer's here to see Gold. It should be as simple as that, but none of tonight's events seem accidental. Regina feels like she's staring at one of those pictures that require her to spot the out-of-place object, but she can't quite pinpoint it.

Is Gold somehow to blame for what happened to her? The thought has crossed her mind before. She refused to entertain it for long because she didn't have any reason to think that, other than past experience.

Why would he exploit her now, and how would he stand to benefit? In spite of how Gold treats her, he's also been protective of her at times.

"Regina," Gold lilts, as if her mere presence frustrates him. "I had no idea you were acquainted with Mr. Spencer. I guess it's true what they say: it is a small world, after all."

Regina is hardly listening to Gold. She's instead thinking of all the ways to demand answers from him. Then she glimpses another unmistakable face from across the room.

It's James Spencer, and he's walking towards them.

Regina can scarcely breathe. Her limbs seize with panic. Bright pinpricks of color sail through her vision.

"What's gotten into you?" Gold asks in genuine confusion, and lays a hand on her shoulder. "Breathe, dearie."

She reflexively shakes him off, and swallows down her nausea. Her nostrils flare as she intakes air. All noises suddenly seem too loud, and her depth perception warped.

"Is she okay?" James blinks, showing true concern as he arrives at their table. He signals a waiter. "Get her some water."

Disoriented, she can only choke out, "Please," and "I'm fine." She should notify Emma immediately, but her fear subsides, and she decides to wait it out.

James remains standing in front of her, and Regina searches his face for any sign of malice.

"It turns out my son had a twin brother," Albert soberly explains. "Did I mention my boy was adopted? The twins were separated at birth. It's nice to finally meet you, David."

David – not James – furrows his brow and sits down.

"You are indeed identical to my son in every way," Albert remarks, seeming wholly preoccupied by David's features. "I regret not contacting you sooner, once I had learned of your existence."

"I would have loved to meet James," David breathes. He has a solemn, contemplative look about him. He's not like James, after all—not in this moment. There's nothing threatening about him, and when he steals a glance Regina's way, it's with kindness and regard for her well-being.

Regina's baffled by these people, who she assumes will turn against her at any second. She's been on edge all evening, prepared for a fight that hasn't come, and she's getting angry with Emma. Shouldn't the agent be checking in with her at regular intervals?

"It's the strangest thing," David starts, but their waitress interrupts him. He takes a moment to look at the redhead. She plunks a glass of whiskey down on the table and he drinks.

"Before my mother died, she never mentioned my brother," David continues. "Finances were always very tight. I assume she couldn't afford another mouth to feed, especially after my father left. But I just can't believe she never told me about the adoption."

"She didn't want either you or your brother to know," Mr. Gold interjects. "As long as you were both happy and healthy, that was all that mattered to her."

Regina wonders if there's more to Gold's story.

Gold specializes in covering up scandals. He's been involved in many adoptions over the years—mostly in cases of unwanted pregnancy after extramarital love affairs. He also has a talent for ensuring that his clients' private matters remain private. In legal battles, he doesn't analyze evidence; he simply buries it. But why would he help a destitute woman?

"You must be very curious about your brother," Regina intones. Her best poker face is firmly in place and she arches an eyebrow at David.

David blinks and offers her a bland look. "I am."

"He suffered," Spencer pointedly states, and then stares down into his glass of whiskey. "Chiefly, he suffered from the thought that he was unloved. I didn't know how to help him. Now he's gone and beyond my help."

Regina rises to her feet immediately. She's not going to sit around and listen to anyone express pity over James Spencer. "It's late," she mutters. "I need to get home to my son. Thank you for the drinks."

"It was a pleasure seeing you again, Regina," Spencer says, bidding her goodbye.

Exchanging any further pleasantries is too hard; politely excusing herself is all Regina can muster. She wanders away from Spencer's table, finds herself at the door and steps outside. For a while she just gasps until her lungs fill with cool night air, then she doubles over and leans against the side of the building.

The redheaded waitress from earlier is standing close by; she takes a long drag on a cigarette and passes it over to Regina.

"Rough night?" the redhead asks.

Regina glares at the cigarette before accepting it. "Yeah," she concedes. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," the redhead replies, but she's staring at Regina expectantly.

"You ever feel like you're at a dead end?" Regina mutters, attempting to initiate a casual conversation that will mostly involve listening on her part.

"All the time," the redhead shrugs, then gazes directly at Regina again – unsettling her with inquisitive blue eyes. "Sometimes I'm overlooking the obvious, though – and all I've to do is recognize that."

Regina holds her ground, in spite of a mounting urge to go. She stamps out the cigarette, which has dwindled to nothing more than a nub. "Seems like good advice."

"It would be good if I knew how to follow it," the redhead hums, rolling her shoulders and glancing across the crowded parking lot. "It's not easy in my line of work, that's for sure. I tend to zone out, and when my mind is elsewhere, it's not in the present moment."

Regina nods, and crosses her arms in an easy half-hug over her torso. She's hardly paying attention to the waitress, but something is keeping her there, breathing in the clouds of smoke that still hang around her.

"Watch yourself around Emma Swan," the redhead mutters, with a leery squint of her right eye. She speaks so quickly and so quietly that Regina almost misses the bizarre warning.

"What did you just say?" Regina rumbles, sounding gravelly and unnerved.

The waitress doesn't seem keen on repeating herself. "I warned you about Emma Swan," she nevertheless explains, and presumptuously reaches out to touch Regina's shoulder. "Be mindful of the authorities that appear to be protecting you. Not everyone can be trusted."

Regina furrows her brow in stubborn resistance. "Who are you," she hisses.

"You can call me Lena," the redhead caressingly replies. "Take good care of yourself, Regina. " She breezily strolls away, as if they shared nothing but a pleasant chat between them.

Regina feels her temples throb, and she's left clutching her head when Emma joins her.

"Regina!" Emma's pitch rises sharply, but Regina's slow to react and meet the agent's gaze. "Were you talking to yourself?"

There's no one else around them, and Regina feels strangely disoriented and uncertain in the gathering darkness. She falters, stepping backwards and standing still until the world stops tilting. "No," she asserts. "There was a woman—a waitress. She told me I shouldn't trust you. Why would she say that?"

"What did she look like?" Emma asks, whipping her head around to search for the woman.

"Tall, red-headed, blue eyes," Regina rattles off automatically. In spite of their ups and downs, she does somehow trust Emma. She begrudgingly admits this to herself as Emma runs off to track down the strange redhead.

Regina's palms are sweating as she impulsively tugs her cell phone from her coat pocket. She rapidly dials, but her throat scrapes like sandpaper when she tries to speak. "Hello? Mother, it's me," she spits out, as she sags against the building, and throws her head back in resignation.

"My darling," Cora cordially replies, though her voice lifts ever so slightly and reveals her clear concern. "How are you?"

"Where's Daddy?" Regina confrontationally squeaks. "Is he home? I want to speak to him." Tonight she's distraught enough that she's broken a years' long silence with her mother. It's the biggest display of weakness, but right now she needs her father's calm collectedness, and it's worth the brief contact with Cora to get what she needs. "I want to see him."

"You know you're always welcome here," Cora quietly stresses. "I can have the guest house prepared for you if you'd like to come out to the Cape this weekend. You sound distraught, and it's no wonder. I've done nothing but speak with investigators these last few days. Why don't you ever turn to your family for help? Do you really hate me all that much?"

Regina knows better than to answer her mother's questions. She's tempted to hang up, but her father's voice stops her. "Regina," he snuffles. "I've missed you. Please tell me what's happened. I've called you and left messages. Are you back in Boston?"

"Yes," Regina sighs out in relief, as she brushes the wind-blown hair out of her face. "Yes, I'm back in Boston. I'll come see you. It's been too long." It perplexes her that she never received a one of her father's messages, but she believes him. There must be a problem with the answering machine.

"Are you hurt?" Henry Sr. asks, and she can picture the way his bushy eyebrows cinch together in worry.

"I'm fine, Daddy," Regina lies halfheartedly, and for some reason her dishonesty fills her with unease. "I just—I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's not as bad as I'm sure it sounds."

Cora has gone silent, though Regina senses her mother is still listening.

"I can't talk for long," Regina coughs. Smoking makes her throat dry, and she can't shake the feeling that she's erred in confiding this much in her parents. "I'll see you soon."

The surveillance van pulls up nearby, and Jones slides back the door for her. "We've got trouble," he sighs. "Our superiors are not happy with Swan."

Rob climbs out of the driver's seat and walks into the bar without even glancing at Regina. She slips her cell phone into her pocket and settles into the back of the van to wait.

It's a much longer wait than she expects—long enough that she finds herself zoning out with her head against the window.

Jones is hunched over the steering wheel when Emma flings open the van's door. Rob gets into the passenger's seat and slams the door behind him.

"Got some footage of the waitress," Emma neutrally reports. "But her employment paperwork is useless. She used a fake name, references and everything."

Rob's face is beat red as though he's been shouting, and he hunkers down as if he has no intentions of talking to anyone for the duration of the ride.

Emma appears unaffected, but she's dutifully ignoring her colleagues and her lips are pressed together in an uncharacteristically stern way. "We have our work cut out for us," she comments. "Albert Spencer is still a person of interest. So is your ex-boss, Mr. Gold. And the waitress who came out of nowhere to warn you about your security team-"

"Just you," Regina quietly corrects, and then stares down at her lap. "Well, mainly you."

"If I was a threat, I think you'd already know about it," Emma snorts. "Still, the waitress introduces a new complication—another layer in this impossible case. She's obviously not on our side, but she can't be ORACLE, either. It's a priority to track her down."

"My only priority right now is to get back to my son," Regina says, fiddling with her wristwatch. "It's late."

"We're nearly there," Jones assures her, and a few minutes later they arrive at a gated community of condominiums.

Gioseppo and Tillman are still on duty, and grant them access to the building where she and Henry will stay overnight. The condo is spartan, with two bedrooms and one bathroom. It's a far cry from the comfort of home, but Regina makes no hesitation over kicking off her heels and falling into the same bed where Marian and Henry are already sleeping.

Regina will never be able to thank Marian enough for the sacrifices she's made to watch over Henry, in spite of the menacing unknowns and the hectic, long days. At least Henry is sleeping peacefully.

Marian stirs, senses Regina's bodily warmth and affectionately brushes her fingertips over her friend's arm. "You okay?" she whispers.

"I don't know what I am," Regina admits, without constraining the upset laugh that rises from her chest. "Confused, more than anything. How about you?"

"I've decided to take some more precautions," Marian mutters. "I moved the women from the Dorchester shelter to our other facilities. I put Belle in charge temporarily. It just seemed like the best thing to do, since you need me here. We'll get through this mess, and then we'll worry about getting back to work."

"Regina?" Emma calls out softly. Her shadowy form is framed in the bright doorway. She doesn't tread into the room to get Regina's attention, but she's fidgeting impatiently.

Regina squeezes Marian's hand, then slides out of bed and goes out into the hall. She shuts the door behind her to avoid rousing Henry. "What is it?" she asks.

Barefoot, Regina is much shorter than Emma in boots, and they stand sizing each other up for a moment. In the small space, Emma's heat and energy radiates palpably, and they're both hyper aware of their proximity.

"I know tonight didn't exactly go as we thought it would," Emma deflates, scrunching up her nose. "But at least everything went okay with Albert Spencer?"

"I'm not sure I'd say that. He's not the most pleasant company," Regina huffs, and yet out of all of her parents' intolerable friends, she prefers the gruff businessman. "Then again, most men of his age and social standing aren't pleasant to be around."

"Yeah." Emma produces a handful of pictures from a plastic sleeve and holds them out to Regina. "Speaking of old, rich guys, do you recognize any of these people?"

Regina takes the stack of pictures and flips through them, unable to identify the majority of people who are posed, smiling and camera-ready. She continues until she comes to an image of someone who in appearances only is a distinguished, aging gentleman. He's warmly offering his arm to a young brunette with fair skin. The girl seems charmed by him—happy to be alive and in his company.

Without batting an eyelash, Regina nonchalantly tucks the picture behind the first in the stack, and returns the whole set to Emma. "A few of them look familiar, but I don't remember any of their names."

It's a believable lie, and one that she tells without giving a single indication that it's a falsehood.

"I lifted these from Spencer's office earlier when he was having dinner with you," Emma explains. Now it's clear why Emma didn't check in with Regina more often—she must have been skulking around.

Emma is still fixated on the photos, with a deep furrow of curiosity in her brow. "I've seen this guy before. He was a senator, right?" Her thumb catches on the last photo, and she tugs it back out of the pile. "I can't believe I'm blanking on his name."

Regina's stomach sinks, and she swallows the sour taste that rises into her mouth. "White," she murmurs with conviction. "Former Senator Leopold White."

It's an old photo, but she hasn't seen him in so long that she'd likely have more trouble recognizing him if the snapshot happened to be newer, or if she met him on the streets. The girl who stands beside him is his daughter Mary Margaret, and even though years have passed, the sight of the girl's self-satisfied face still vexes Regina.

"He's in a lot of Spencer's photos," Emma says softly. "Of course they were all in frames, so I didn't steal them. But it's always this guy, Gold, and Andrew Midas." She takes another photo from the stack, where Spencer has his arm around a man with golden brown curly hair—his well-known business partner, Andrew Midas.

Regina arches a brow, and sucks at the inside of her cheek. "So what?" she asks. "What are you going to do now? Question Midas and White? They're not the types of men who get involved with illegal activities—not on this scale." She never thought she'd see the day when she'd be arguing over the innocence of these pompous, self-righteous men. "They both have squeaky clean reputations."

But is she just afraid to put any blame on Leopold White?

If it turns out that he is at all responsible, Regina doubts she can handle leveling accusations against him.

She's been down that road before, and she remembers how easily she loses touch with reality when she's in the presence of the White family; she begins to question her own perceptions and sanity.

As an adult with all of her training, she should be capable of looking at the man in the picture and feeling nothing but deep loathing. His benign smile doesn't confuse her anymore, or make her question whether she's the crazy one. She long ago stopped believing she ever had a choice. But the longer she stares at his picture, the more potent her memories become, and all she can hear is his gentle whisper. It's like he's right there beside her.

 _"Regina," he'd said, pretending to be passive, and blinking his docile, dull eyes as he'd patiently made allowances for himself. "You mustn't get upset. I only wish to give you my patronage – and show you my affections. I have plenty of money for your tuition if you require it. I know mother isn't going to pay for an impractical art school, but if it's your heart's true desire, then you shall certainly have it._ Anything you ask of me _\- it's yours, but I have to ask you to please be kind to me in return. You are a beautiful young woman. You're quite grown up now." He had coaxed her legs open, and placed a hand on her knee. "Let me see you, darling. Now, don't be afraid. You're old enough for a man to take an interest in you."_

Her skin prickles at the evoked sensation of his lips against her ear, and his fingers tangling in the folds of her dress. She holds her breath and can barely hear Emma speaking.

"All I can do is continue looking into people who have been in your life, and in the lives of the perpetrators." Emma frowns; she keeps clenching her knuckles until she impulsively places her hand on Regina's forearm. "I have to go to the office now. Rob tattled on me earlier for doing that quick sweep of Spencer's office. I'll be back as soon as I can." She pats her pants pocket and finds a pen. "No paper. Mind if I write my number on your hand?"

Regina feels a bit weightless, empty and numb. Reminiscing has that effect on her lately. Even her face is numb, unable to form any expression where expressiveness can always be found in abundance.

She extends her hand instantly, struck by how peculiar her situation with Emma has been; how has she ever learned to put any trust at all in a woman whose phone number isn't even programmed into her own phone?

Emma's pen marks tickle across her palm.

"I should have given you my cell number a few days ago, but I sort of figured that I would be the last person you'd call if you needed anything," Emma confesses. "I hope that isn't the case anymore."

"The last time someone wrote a note on my hand, I was in the third grade," Regina remarks, by way of deflecting, and also for other reasons. Emma has brought her mind into a safer place. "I'll call you." She rolls her eyes, even as Emma nods and smiles faintly before strolling away.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma jogs out to her car and turns on the radio for the ride back to headquarters. It's nearing eleven o'clock, but the building is still humming with activity when she enters, goes through the security checkpoints, and up to her boss' office.

Lance hunches at his desk, which is completely covered in papers. He's rubbing the top of his head, and he has the phone tucked against his neck. "Swan's here," he tells someone. "I'll call you back."

Emma knows this can't be good if Lance is willing to end his call, and prepares herself to come off as apologetic. "What's up?" she asks, sinking low in the bucket seat across from him.

"I need you to take a break," Lance breathes out, collecting the mess on his desk and organizing it more neatly. "You've got three weeks vacation starting tomorrow. I've given you too many chances, Swan. You keep going off course, and the fact of the matter is we're going to table this whole investigation for now. Jefferson's proved to be completely unreliable. He's started talking about new age gods, and conspiracy theories. All of our best psychologists have evaluated him. He's a nutcase. We've concluded that there is no weapon, and the best way to handle this is to lock him up until more information presents itself. We can't even assume that Spencer and his lackeys are apart of ORACLE anymore, in spite of what we found in that warehouse. It's possible their whole operation was just another smokescreen-"

Emma's well versed in when it's beneficial to keep quiet, or voice her opinion—yet the more Lance talks, the more she realizes there won't be a good time to speak up. "Who's suddenly pulling the plug on this?" she hoarsely demands. "Why do it now, after all of that talk? I bet it's Big Blue. Isn't it? She just can't stand to have any unfinished business. She covers her ass every time, and makes it look like we've saved the day when we haven't done anything at all-"

"Don't get upset about this," Lance warns, and abruptly stands up to pace. He crosses his arms behind his back and begins a slow march across the office floor. "The truth is we dropped the trail on ORACLE long ago. We don't even know if they're a domestic or foreign network. They've thrown up a million smoke screens, and given us false leads. We're not effective, because we can't even identify the key players in their game. Meanwhile, we're just exhausting our valuable resources, and for what?"

"You swore to me we weren't going to give up!" Emma vehemently argues. "When I got back, after everything I'd been through—after all of the shitty debriefing, and other ridiculous hoops you threw my way, you consoled me with the promise that we'd do whatever was necessary." She's winded from all of the yelling, and she knocks all of the papers from Lance's desk, just because he'll have to clean it all up again. He won't be able to simply file it away and forget all of their records on ORACLE. Her pride hurts- she's practically vibrating with all of her anger.

"We're going to allocate a small team to handle the remaining work," Lance states, in a controlled voice, even as papers fall around him. "We plan to continue providing support to Ms. Mills and her son, but as far as I'm concerned, we've found the wrongdoers we were looking for: Jefferson will be tried as a terrorist. As for the other guilty parties—they have already received their punishment, and we'll continue to search for the one responsible for meting it out."

Emma can only shake her head. This is a complete turn-around that she should have seen coming, but she's still squashed by it. "You'll change your mind when something else happens," she mutters. "I'll be waiting on that phone call." She gets up, and exits without the courtesy of saying goodbye.

As she's halfway to the elevator banks, she detours and pops her head into Eugenia's office. There are balloons floating on the ceiling and a huge vase of sunflowers on the analyst's desk. "Ready for retirement?" Emma softly asks.

"Not quite!" Eugenia replies from behind her computer. Her glasses are still perched on the bridge of her nose, but she lets them drop from her face and dangle by a chain as she scoots her chair around to look at Emma. "I was planning to go home and watch the UFC match, but there's five days until I'm officially done here, and I wouldn't bail on you a minute sooner." She tosses a giant folder down in front of her and pushes it over to Emma. "Some of these are medical histories, as I first suspected. I had to bring in a few consultants to work them out, but we've begun to understand them. Just in time, too. I've been told we're no longer prioritizing ORACLE—or whatever they're calling it now."

Emma plops down on the huge yellow beanbag chair in the corner of Eugenia's office to read the files. The beanbag is the only spot in the whole building where Emma's ever been completely comfortable. She's never taken a seat in a normal desk chair in Eugenia's office, and she half suspects that the older woman put the beanbag chair there just for her.

"Let me give you a summary," Eugenia offers, angling her seat so she can peer down at the files in Emma's lap. "What you're looking at is a bunch of genetic records. But they're coded in an unusual way. In the first grouping, there are five sets of documents, which correspond to five family groups. My best guess is that the purpose of collecting these records was to note subtle changes in genetic lines across many generations. There's also a case of drives, containing a whopping petabyte of information. We have no easy way of sorting through it. We would need a database, or a program to make sense of it all."

"Would anyone miss this stuff if I took it with me?" Emma mutters, distracted by the analyst's added notations.

"Oh, I suppose eventually," Eugenia deliberates, and puts her glasses back on, probably to make sure Emma knows she means business. "But as far as anyone knows, they're in my possession. As long as you come to my retirement party, you can return them to me then-"

"I guess you're holding me to my promise then, huh?" It's a done deal, as far as Emma's concerned. She's already shoving the folder into her jeans, and zippering up her jacket so no one can tell she's leaving with it.

"For once, I am, yes," Eugenia readily concedes. "And you have to bring that lady friend of yours. Ruby told me she's a real looker."

"Oh, hey, Regina's not really my girlfriend," Emma shyly admits. "She was just pretending. I can't ask her to come to your party. She's—she's Regina Mills, the woman… who's under our protection."

"Ask her to come anyway," Eugenia insists, though her face falls, and she's less enthusiastic than before. "She can always say no, but it might be a welcome diversion."

Inviting Regina to a retirement party wouldn't be perceived the same way as asking her out on a date, would it?

"Yeah," Emma says noncommittally, with no intention of even mentioning the party to Regina. "We'll see what happens. She's a busy lady, plus she's got a kid. I'm not even sure if she can arrange a sitter."

It's easy to find excuses, and Emma doesn't state the obvious one: there is a sensitive and floundering part of Regina behind the hardened exterior, and she doesn't want to put the woman in a vulnerable position if it's not strictly necessary. Some of the party attendees will only know of Regina through the documentation of events that occurred, and they're the same judgmental people who looked at Emma differently after returning from her time in isolation.

Emma hates socializing with them, but they're her colleagues and it would be rude of Eugenia to leave anyone out.

Eugenia shuts down her computer, and gathers up her coat and purse. "It's late and we should both get out of here," she decides, gesturing with both hands for Emma to take the lead.

Emma wanders out to the elevator banks, and Eugenia follows her. They're both silent until they hit the ground floor, and then Eugenia says in parting—"I think of you as family, Emma, and I'd like to see you happy. After next week, you'll have to come visit me at home and let me know what's going on in your life. I'll move that old beat up beanbag chair into my living room if I have to. I know how much you like it."

Eugenia winks at Emma, and walks to her old station wagon. The wagon should be scrapped for its metal, and Eugenia can more than afford a newer model, but there are peeling stickers on the leather interior from Ruby's childhood, and other artifacts that make the car priceless to the aging woman.

"I'll visit," Emma confirms. She fleetingly thinks that maybe she'll even practice being a little less reckless, so that she doesn't disappoint Eugenia.

Eugenia waves, hops into her station wagon, and then Emma's left in the parking lot by herself. Going home would be the smart thing to do, so she can get a fresh start in the morning. She's about to do just that, but then her phone rings.

* * *

"It's me," Regina breathlessly announces. "I've been invited for a tête-à-tête with Mr. Gold."

"Tonight?" Emma balks.

It's already midnight, and based on Regina's whispering, Emma assumes that everyone else is asleep.

"I want to meet with him," Regina asserts, and that's the deciding factor for Emma.

"Give me like twenty minutes," Emma replies, though she makes it back to the safe house in ten.

She turns off her headlights as she approaches with the idea that she's going to have to find some way of stealthily extracting Regina, but to her surprise, Regina comes running out to her car.

"What, did you sneak out again?" Emma cringes.

There are alarms and security cameras, and Emma can't believe her incompetent fellow agents have let Regina run off for a second time without taking note.

"I convinced Jones to let me out," Regina indifferently explains, as she buckles up her seatbelt. "He wants me to tell you that in the event we get into any trouble, we're to take full responsibility and clear his 'good' name. He actually put it in a much cruder way, but I'll spare you the details."

"Yeah," Emma snorts. "Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity, my ass. He lives by a different motto. At least you didn't have to bribe him."

"Bribes aren't necessary when you have blackmail," Regina informs her, with a wry smirk as she glances sideways through the window. "I'll just say that Mr. Jones vigorously exercises his good hand in his free time on the job-"

"Gross," Emma groans. "Time to change the subject. Where are we headed?"

"To Gold's penthouse," Regina states. "I assume you have the address?"

Emma does have it from when she briefly interviewed Gold. His top floor apartment contains all types of antiques and oddities, and he gave her a full tour during her visit.

"I'm still kind of surprised that you called me," Emma mentions. She's secretly heartened by Regina's choice to include her, but she keeps that to herself.

"Gold requested it," Regina softly discloses-as if she's caught onto how Emma's viewing the phone call.

Emma sinks down in her seat and grips her wheel a little tighter. She's suddenly embarrassed, and wonders if she's presumed too much.

"What do you think he wants?" Emma mutters.

Gold is a powerful lawyer, so Emma anticipates that whatever he divulges will be a carefully-worded partial truth. If he's forthcoming with any valuable information, it'll be worth the late night trip.

"I'm not sure, but I want to ask him some questions," Regina gravely intones. "From having worked with him, I can tell you that his information won't come cheap."

Emma finds a parking spot underneath a blinking street lamp and slouches back in her seat. "We can figure out some kind of trade," she suggests.

Regina takes a deep breath and gradually exhales as she nods. "Let's go."

The doorman has instructions to escort them in, and they take the elevator up to the top floor. Decorative vases with velvety, red roses sit on either side of Gold's foyer. Emma shuffles inside and wipes her boots, while Regina seems to hang back.

Gold comes to the door in his burgundy smoking jacket, and gives each woman a cursory glance before withdrawing into his parlor. He holds a tumbler of whiskey, and the wet bar in the corner draws his attention first, before he even fully acknowledges his guests. After doling cubes of ice into his drink, he settles down in an armchair and peers up at Regina and Emma.

"Well, have a seat," he impatiently commands, and it's clear that they should have figured that much out on their own.

Emma perches at the edge of the sofa, though her posture is stiff. Even though their conversation hasn't yet begun, she's ready to get the hell out of there.

She's not in the mood for anyone's mind games, and she detects the same tension in Regina.

"I don't want to sit down," Regina sneers, with her arms crossed and a no-nonsense gleam in her eye.

"Suit yourself," Gold sniffs, and sips his whiskey without batting an eyelash over Regina's behavior. "One of my clients has just bequeathed you an item of great worth, and requested that I make the transference of said item tonight. That is my first matter of business. The second is Ms. Swan's investigation. I may have a tip for you - though where that tip leads, there's no telling. As you know, I've been handling James Spencer's remaining affairs, and it turns out he owned a fair bit of property under a false name."

He presents Emma with the list of the properties, and then passes a large jewelry box to Regina.

Emma skims the list of addresses, but she's more interested in the box in Regina's hands.

It's a generic packaging, but the necklace that Regina removes from its confines is far from ordinary. The string of diamonds catches the warm light in the room. Each gem casts glorious rainbow prisms all around it.

"Might I recommend you find a safe place for that," Gold murmurs.

"Why would anyone give this to me?" Regina asks in confusion, and lowers the gift back into the box. "Furthermore, why would you think this is such a pressing issue that you called me out in the middle of the night?"

"I don't question my clients' wishes, not when they are paying me handsomely for my time," Gold rationalizes.

Emma scrutinizes him, and concludes that they owe him nothing for this meeting, because he's already profited in some extortionate way. He's only fulfilling his end of the bargain with his client by delivering this necklace to Regina, and he hasn't even left his apartment to do it.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me the name of my kind benefactor," Regina sedately remarks.

"My contractual obligations prevent me from discussing it," Gold states, and straightens the lapel on his jacket.

Emma hunches forward in her seat. She folds the list until it's small enough to stuff into her pocket. "It's pretty obvious you know some influential people," she tactfully begins, "And your knowledge of what's going on might be as limited as you've attested, but I don't think much gets past you. If any of this is just a distraction, I'll be back. And not under the auspices of the law, but just as a person. A person who's pretty damn tired and fed up."

It's a blatant threat, and inwardly she's not as strung out as she claims—though she's sure she looks frazzled and prepared to take matters into her own hands.

Regina opens her mouth in what might be shock, or excitement. Then her lip twists in a perceptibly satisfied way. "Ms. Swan, shall we?" she raspingly croons, and spins to go.

Gold has no parting words for them, nor does he respond to Emma's warning. It's looking like their meeting is already over.

Even if this isn't a victory, it still feels like one—probably because of the new glimmer of liveliness that lights up Regina's whole face.

Emma hastens after Regina and they get onto the elevator. She has no clue why Regina's staring at her, but she handles the situation by shaking herself, and then gazing at her feet.

It's been a while since she's had a one night stand, but this is the type of buzzing energy she feels from a woman when she's about to get laid.

"You okay?" Emma coughs, for lack of anything better to say in her discomposure.

She can't halt her mind from mentally rehearsing what she'd do if Regina ever came onto her.

It could never be the other way around, Emma's decided, and therefore she's secure in the idea that it won't happen. She's not going to put the moves on Regina—first of all, because that would be sleazy, and secondly, because she wouldn't want to jeopardize the partnership, given their brief and rocky history.

With her thighs clenched so tight that she can hardly walk, Emma makes it back to the car. She risks looking at Regina against her better judgment. It's impossible to rid herself of inappropriate thoughts, and she's not certain why. She bets it's related to too many sleepless nights and decades of loneliness.

"I should ask you the same question," Regina muses. "Do you feel alright? Your face is flushed."

Embarrassment just makes the problem worse, and Emma squeaks out, "Fine—feeling fine." She instantly sobers up.

"I appreciate how determined you are," Regina intones. "In many ways, you've surprised me."

Emma takes the unexpected compliments in stride, even though she secretly enjoys the ego stroking. "I'd tell you that I'm just doing my job, but it's personal," she admits. "And not just because I need to make things right, and compensate for my past screw-ups…"

It would be too much to say aloud that she also wants to protect Regina, but she's heavily implied it.

Regina's eyes narrow pensively and she smiles—more from the eyes, than anything. "Thank you," she says, sincerely.

* * *

Emma's first "day off" consists of picking up coffee at a 24-hour mini-mart, returning to her apartment, and using Google maps to check out all of the addresses on Gold's list. She sends a few texts to Regina, but the replies stop coming around two o'clock in the morning, and then Emma passes out on her couch. Her alarm doesn't go off, and she oversleeps until noon. She would sleep even longer, but she wakes up when she begins to drool on herself.

As Emma uses her t-shirt to wipe the cold, wet saliva from her chin, she realizes it's at least midday because of how the sun slants through her window. She stands up and sways, reaching for her cell phone. No new texts, or messages.

Before showering, she goes into the kitchen and peeks into the nearly empty fridge. There's a container of Chinese take-out noodles that have shriveled and hardened, two packets of ketchup and a bottle of orange juice. She grabs the juice and drinks it on the way to the bathroom.

In the middle of washing her hair, she hears the phone vibrate and tries to read the message without getting out of the shower. Soap stings her eyes as she glances down at the screen, and at Regina's brief note: _Rob believes you could face real disciplinary action if you continue to disobey orders. Why didn't you tell me you were penalized?_

 _Penalized? I thought I was on vacation_ , Emma writes. _Why are you talking to that jackass anyway?_

She's able to finish getting the suds out of her curls, and towel herself dry before another text from Regina comes through: _He's been assigned to us, until we can resume our normal lives._

Even if Rob has no choice in the matter, Emma can't help but glower about that.

Over the years, he's changed from someone flexible, to a person whose strict adherence to the rules prevents her from liking him.

What bothers her the most is that now she won't be able to use Regina as a resource.

If Rob believes Emma's job is in jeopardy, he'll prevent her from getting anywhere close to Regina. He's as stupid as he is protective.

Emma composes a quick text on the way out the door: _Sorry about that. Call me later when he's not around._

She jumps into her car, and spends the next several hours driving around the Boston area to visit James Spencer's properties. The first of the nine happens to be an abandoned cannery, and there's nothing of interest there. The others are mostly storefronts for rent without any tenants – closed-up shops that have outdated, sun-bleached signs and spray-paint all over their boarded windows.

One of the addresses leads to an undeveloped patch of land in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and there are two vacant residences—one in Burlington, Vermont and another in Camden, Maine. She'll have to take another road trip if she plans to search these last few places, but it's not something she can accomplish in one afternoon.

The next several days go by in a whirlwind of travel. Her exploration of the properties is rewarded when she locates an underground cellar on the Portsmouth land.

At first glance, the place seems to be a storage spot for an impressive collection of fine wine. She wastes hours wandering around the dusty basement, and sampling the lot of them. That's how she notices the strange, barely-there markings in the glass, and notations behind the labels. As she drains the last of a bottle, she comes to a further realization—that there's a false bottom within the glass itself, where more liquid has been contained. It's not wine.

It would be too much work to completely clear out the storeroom, but Emma carries as many bottles as she can and loads them into her car.

She'll have the liquids tested in the lab when she returns to work. For now, she just hopes that she doesn't get pulled over by any state police, who might question why she has a liquor store in her trunk.

It's a long ride to the other property locations. The homes in Camden and Burlington turn out to be mansions, with furniture draped over by dust tarps, and spacious yards with wild, untended gardens.

Emma camps out in the Camden house over night instead of paying for a hotel, and drives back to Boston on the following morning.

There's little point in communicating with Regina while Rob is acting as her personal watchdog. If not for him, Emma might have called Regina – but there's always a chance that the woman will ask about her whereabouts, and Emma would rather not have to lie.

Among other things, she still needs to figure out the identity of the waitress who spoke to Regina, and interview former Senator Leopold White and his daughter Mary Margaret.

Emma's first order of business as soon as she's back in Boston is to track down Mary Margaret White.

It's not difficult. Mary Margaret is one of the doctors at the children's hospital for cancer and blood disorders, and Emma has no trouble looking the woman up in their online database. There's an email address listed, but sending an email would create a paper trail, and Emma wants to avoid doing that until after her suspension officially ends.

Rather than risk generating any proof of her disobedience, Emma goes to the hospital in person.

As she waits in line at reception, she determines which receptionist to approach. There's four on duty, and all of them chat with each other while filing records and directing people to different departments.

The quietest of the bunch is Rhonda—a woman with frizzy, dyed red hair.

Emma chooses Rhonda. She clutches her badge as inconspicuously as possible while still allowing the receptionist to see it. "I'm conducting an investigation," she states. "Will you please page Dr. White for me, or just show me to her office? If she's with a patient, I'll gladly wait."

Rhonda gapes at her, and then hops up from her seat. "Oh—yes," she agrees. "Come right this way. I'll escort you." She's a friendly, helpful woman who rides the elevator with Emma all the way up to the eighth floor. "Dr. White's office is in the north wing," she gestures, but goes the extra few steps and talks to the other staff on Emma's behalf.

Rhonda knocks on Dr. White's door, and not finding her in, hurries off to speak with an administrator on the floor. Shortly thereafter, Rhonda returns to Emma with a report: "Dr. White will be taking a break in a half hour and she'll be back in her office. Would you like me to wait with you?"

"If it's okay, I'll just take a seat in the waiting area over there and hang out until she comes back," Emma replies. "You don't have to keep me company, but I appreciate the offer."

"Okay," Rhonda says, and lingers for an instant longer, like a doting mother. "Good luck with your investigation."

Emma thanks her, and then slumps down in a chair in the empty waiting room. She finds some magazines, but they're mostly for kids and parents.

Dr. White must decide not to take her break right away, because she doesn't show up until three hours later.

By that time, Emma's desperate enough to read one of the parenting magazines. She's just about to skim through an article about supporting kids' creativity when Dr. White appears.

Emma drops the magazine, instantly recognizing Dr. White from the picture on the hospital's website and the older pictures from Albert Spencer's office. The woman's short dark hair and mild features are unmistakable.

"Dr. White?" Emma perks up. "Dr. Mary Margaret White…" She pushes herself up from her cramped position, and presents her badge. "Special Agent Swan, Counterterrorism Division."

This is the part of her job she hates—interviewing civilians who might become informants.

These interactions are almost always full of tension for the interviewee, and Emma feels awkward when she uses her badge to initiate a conversation.

Dr. White holds an armload of paperwork and a tablet, which she nearly drops. "Oh!" she says, startled, then fumbles to open her office door. "Are you here to speak with me? Come in."

Emma steps into the office and gazes around at the organized disarray—the stacks of forms, and the usual knickknacks that doctors often collect from drug companies.

"Yeah, I'm here to ask you about your acquaintance with Mr. James Spencer, son of entrepreneur, Albert Spencer," Emma proceeds. "How long has it been since you've seen or spoken to either party?"

Dr. White trips around her desk, and begins rummaging in a paper lunch bag. She pulls out a sandwich, apple, and an oatmeal raisin granola bar. "I'm sorry!" she breathes. "You don't mind if I eat while we talk, do you? I've been here for the last twelve hours and I'm starving."

"Go right ahead." Emma softens as she watches the woman wolf down half of the sandwich.

"Would you like my apple?" Dr. White kindly offers.

"I had a big breakfast, but thanks," Emma lies.

She's eaten some stale froot loops she found in the back of her cabinet, a stick of gum, and an extra large coffee she grabbed from a convenience store.

Dr. White smiles at her, and takes the liberty of cutting the apple into slices anyway, so they can share. "It's been years since I've seen Albert Spencer, and even longer since I've seen his son," she finally explains, after swallowing a piece of the apple. "Albert Spencer is a friend of my father's. They attended the same prep school as boys. I think the last time I saw Mr. Spencer was at one of my father's parties, over ten years ago. I hope he's alright."

"He is," Emma mutters thoughtfully. "He's okay, but his son recently passed away. There are some strange circumstances surrounding the death."

"I didn't know his son well, but I'm still sorry to hear of his passing." Dr. White frowns. "I suppose that's why you're here?"

"Part of the reason," Emma admits. She sits for a moment, and studies Dr. White, whose walls are covered in accolades and diplomas. Not only does the woman appear harmless, but she's also dedicating her life to improving the situation of many sick kids.

Emma wonders why Regina responded so negatively to the photo of Mary Margaret and her father.

"What about Regina Mills?" Emma asks. "Is that name familiar to you?"

Dr. White tenses, and gentle creases form on her forehead. "Regina," she mutters. "Yes, I know her. She's…actually the reason I'm still here today. I was very sick as a child, and she saved me." She catches Emma eye and hurries to clarify. "Oh—it was nothing serious, not like my patients cope with on a daily basis. It happened all in one night. I had a high temperature and began to hallucinate. Somehow I ended up outside, and fell into our swimming pool. It was after one of my father's parties. Fortunately Regina was still there after everyone left for the night. She heard me splashing, and came to rescue me. Has something happened to her?"

Emma reflexively tightens the muscles in her jaw. "Regina is doing fine," she quietly replies, by way of sidestepping the question. "It seems like it's been a while since you've been in touch with her, but I want you to think really hard: is it possible that any of your mutual contacts or friends would be holding a grudge against her?

"Regina did have her fair share of enemies," Dr. White mutters, and then her face brightens up as if she has a thought. She retrieves some photos from her desk drawer and spreads them out on the desk. In all of the photos, Mary Margaret and her father are standing side by side on the front lawn of an impressive mansion.

"From May until the end of August, my father and I lived in our Cape Cod summer home," Dr. White reminisces. "Regina's house was just up the street from mine. I remember Regina's mother being very frustrated with her, and in just one summer, everything changed. Regina went from being a kindhearted person, to someone who humiliated and bullied everyone. After that, it seemed like the community was dead set against her. My father tried to help set her on a better path, but unfortunately she couldn't be helped. Mrs. Mills sent her away for a while, and then Regina must have gone straight onto college after that. I felt sorry for her."

Emma has no idea what to do with this information. She expected a simpler response, which would point back to Albert Spencer, or another member of their shared social circle. Interviewing everyone who ever lived in that small private community would require more resources and time.

"I know your father is probably a busy man, but it would help if I could speak to him, too," Emma concludes. "He might be able to provide some further insights."

The main reason she's interviewing Mary Margaret first is because setting up an appointment with a former senator will be difficult without alerting anyone else in her division.

"Our plan is to keep this investigation as discreet as possible, so the press don't get involved," Emma sternly explains. "I'll take you both to dinner." She jots her phone number on the memo pad on Dr. White's desk, helps herself to one of the doctor's business cards, and then stands up. "Feel free to give me a call once you've spoken with your father, or I'll reach out tomorrow, and we can figure out a day and time that works for all of us."

"Okay," Dr. White replies, and Emma can tell that this woman is just one of those do-gooder people who actually takes joy in helping anyone she can. "It was nice meeting you."

"Uh-nice to meet you, too." Emma shakes Dr. White's hand, and then leaves the office.

This could backfire on Emma if the senator refuses the quiet meeting and decides to question her story. But she thinks the gain is worth the risk, and how bad can it be, especially if Dr. White's involved?


End file.
